Is A Dream A Lie
by Enfleurage
Summary: S3 Alternate version starting at the end of Rumours of Death. Written for Ika and Fran and originally meant to be published by Val Westall, but as far as I know, the print zine never came to fruition.
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:** I wrote this story a long time (6 years!) ago, for Ika and Fran. I promised it to another B7 fandom friend (Hi, Val!) who was going to put it into a print zine. Time has passed and as far as I know the print zine never came to fruition, so after a recent review on a B7 fanfic I wrote reminded me of all my stories that never made it to the net, I decided to dig them out.

A silly point of interest: the story was written for Ika and Fran and therefore, Ika did me the honor of using one of my charaters, Sumner, in one of her stories, which, in one of those timing things, actually made it to print while this waited.

_Is A Dream A Lie_ by Morrigan

* * *

**1.1**

Avon's head throbbed as he stared at the CADCAM screen. He leaned back in his chair and closed his eyes. Another migraine coming on, damn it! I'm almost there. This design is close, but not exactly it. Without opening his eyes he groped in his jacket pocket for the small bottle, eased open the cap, and slid the pill between his forefinger and thumb. He swallowed the pill without water, as was his habit.

Perhaps it was the monitor. With his eyes closed, he could almost see the completed design for the matter transmission system. There is something missing, I know it. I know I know it, but…he winced. The blinding flash heralding the arrival of the migraine chose that moment to descend. A wave of nausea hit and he considered moving to the couch. Perhaps if I turn off the lights?

The knock at the door could not have been worse timed.

"Go away," he muttered through his teeth.

A second knock, louder and more persistent. Without opening his eyes, he growled.

"Come."

He heard the door open promptly. Whomever it was apparently wanted very much to see him. Heavy boots trod on the soft carpet. Without opening his eyes, he gave warning.

"This is not a good time. Come back later."

"I'm sorry, Avon, that's not possible. I need to speak with you now."

Completely irritated, Avon whirled his chair around to face the intruder as the man shut the door. The swift motion nearly blinded him as his migraine reminded him that stillness was necessary. The trespasser, for it was obviously not a fellow scientist by his attire, was a sturdy man about his own age but quite different in looks. He was a stranger; anyone who knew Avon would have fled when so ordered.

"Look," Avon began savagely, "I don't know who the hell you think you are…"

"Blake," the man interrupted. "Roj Blake." He stared at Avon for a long moment and then smiled sadly. "You don't know me, do you?"

The migraine reasserted itself and Avon closed his eyes in pain. It's the stuffiness in this office, the flickering of the monitor and this damn interloper. I've no time for this; not now.

"Look, whatever your name is, this is not a good time."

Muffled footfalls moved toward him quickly. Avon sensed the man leaning towards him, hovering just over him.

"What's wrong? Avon, Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Go away." Avon opened his eyes warily. "How the hell did you get in here?"

The stranger smiled, again sadly, but backed away. "You'd probably not believe me. Quite a security detail you have for a research scientist."

Oh Christ, not another citizen complaint committee.

"You'll have to take that up with my wife; it's her doing," he snapped irritably and closed his eyes again.

There was blessed silence and Avon hoped that the stranger had made his point and would depart, leaving him to recover. The project was already behind schedule. As lead designer every second of his time was priceless and contending with a migraine and interloper consumed irreplaceable moments.

"Your wife?" the stranger whispered finally. "Avon, you're not married."

"Well now, I suppose that would make the baby a bastard, wouldn't it?"

For some reason this seemed to completely unsettle the stranger. Taking advantage, Avon swung around to face this man.

"Look, Blake or whatever you're called, I don't have time for these games. Come to the point now or I'll have security escort you from here."

Blake straightened, as if he had made a decision.

"The project you're working on. It's matter transmission, isn't it?"

"That's hardly a secret."

Blake nodded slowly.

"You might not understand this now, but you will later. I promise."

Avon watched in confusion as the man pulled a circular object from his pocket. He glanced more closely at it.

"That's aquitar! How the hell…"

Fixated on the object, a bracelet he finally determined, his eyes shifted upward as the man's fist descended, bringing blackness and an escape from the migraine.

* * *

**1.2**

Light probed at his eyes and he pulled his head away, wincing.

"You're awake then."

Awake? I'm barely alive by the pounding in my head! Where am I? This isn't my office. That smell? Disinfectant? A medical facility? Avon opened his eyes quickly and glanced around. It's not Dr. Rousert's office. It's not the first aid station at work. He turned his gaze on the woman who had been peering into his eyes. She was attractive, slender with curly hair and a friendly face. He wondered if she was related to that intruder, similar colouring and all, though their builds couldn't be more dissimilar. No, she's radiating kindness while he…difficult to categorise that one.

"What happened?"

She smiled at him. She seemed happy, or was it relieved?

"Blake rescued you. You're back on _Liberator_ and I think you'll be all right."

His head was swimming. If he was very careful and stayed perfectly still the light-headedness, that pins-and-needle feeling at the top of his skull would lessen. I'm on some type of medical bed; it's not uncomfortable. Perhaps if I just lie quietly…

"My medication?"

"I found these pills in your pocket. Is that what you mean?"

God no.

"Those only help the symptoms, the migraines. I require medication for the seizures."

She was staring at him, a blank puzzled look. _Really_, was it that difficult to understand? It sounds as if Terran is her native language.

"Look, it is rather important that I take this medication regularly. Call Dr. Rousert's office. No, call my wife's office. She can get it delivered to me, wherever I am."

That look of horror of her face was not particularly reassuring. He was having difficulty thinking now, he felt the grey cloud descending. Finally he let his head slip back onto the table and gave into it.

* * *

**1.3**

He awoke slowly as he did whenever he had a seizure. Eyes closed, he could feel the monitor leads attached to his chest and temples. Hospital? He couldn't open his eyes yet. From long experience he knew it would hurt too much. It was better to wait a few minutes until the grey vapour had gone. Heart rate? Seems quickened, but breathing sounds normal. Patience, Avon.

"You're awake."

Avon's hopes fell. It was the man who hit him. Blake, wasn't it?

"No thanks to you. Was it necessary to strike me?"

He sensed that he had hit a nerve, slightly surprised that he was able to read this stranger's reactions so quickly and with his eyes closed. I'm hardly the people person in the family; well, actually,neither of us is.

"At the time, yes. I am sorry if I hurt you."

It was safe to open his eyes now. Blinking at the large man hovering over him, Avon's quick survey revealed that he was exactly where he had awoken previously. Where am I? What do these people want from me? His addled brain wasn't projecting possibilities particularly well. Silence might be better than giving anything away. He narrowed his eyes at the man, awaiting explanation.

Sighing, the big man pulled a chair towards the bed and straddled it.

"You don't remember me at all, then?"

Repetitive, isn't he?

"I believe we already established that fact."

Blake rubbed his face wearily with his right hand and Avon immediately winced.

"What?"

That pinch inside my head… Well, without the medication, I suppose the symptoms are more frequent.

"Look, I mentioned to that woman who was here earlier…"

"Cally."

"Yes, right," Avon continued impatiently, "that I need a certain medication. I don't know what you want from me, but without that medication, you will not get it."

You won't get it anyway, but that's for you to figure out.

"Why do you need this medication?"

Blake's head tilted, eyes narrowed as if he was suspicious. He's suspicious? That's rich. He takes me from my office without warning and brings me to this place…this room.

"Is this necessary?"

"I don't know what was done to you and the testing we've done doesn't reveal any physical abnormalities."

Avon blinked. Testing? The monitor leads? What type of testing have they been doing, and why?

"The medication that I require inhibits seizures."

Blake frowned and began to rock the chair slowly, rhythmically.

"Since when do you have seizures, Avon?"

The voice was slow and thoughtful. He says my name as if he knows me. Avon winced again and felt the nausea rising. He fumbled for his pocket: nothing. The bottle was gone. Nearly blind now with the pain, he covered his eyes with one hand. He could hear Blake's voice at a distance, shouting.

"What's wrong?"

He felt a pill pressed into his hand and he swallowed it without thinking. Afterward he realised that the hand had been female. He lay as still as he possibly could, palms pressed to his eyelids in a vain attempt to prevent light from hammering inside his head. Voices murmured in the distance, quietly, harmoniously. Surprisingly, they were soothing and slowly, the blackness receded and he began to breathe normally again.

"Avon, are the questions bringing on these attacks?"

It was the woman's voice, kind and worried. She was safe, not a threat. Don't be a fool; you can't know that.

"No."

"Do you know what causes the attacks?"

Again, the voice was gentle and concerned. More concern than he would expect from a stranger that had kidnapped him. Of course, they need me for some reason.

"As I said earlier," he replied with some remaining shred of patience, "the medication prevents them. I don't know why you grabbed me but I'm useless without it."

He opened his eyes, watching her troubled gaze.

"Why_ did_ you grab me?"

She reached for his hand and held it gently, holding his gaze with equal gentleness.

"I don't expect you'll believe this now, but Blake rescued you. You belong with us."

Avon winced again as a stabbing light pierced his brain.

"What?" Blake again, demanding.

"Nothing." Avon closed his eyes and gathered his mind. "I'm sorry, you were saying," he said politely to Cally, opening his eyes and giving her his attention.

Cally smiled at him in reassurance.

"You've been gone for over two months."

Gone for two months! He hit me two months ago! Avon's jaw dropped as he stared at her.

"Two months? Where? My wife? My work? I don't understand."

He saw their faces, their uneasiness, and his alarm grew.

"No, Avon. You've been gone from _us_ for more than two months. You are not married and you do not work on the Aquitar Project."

Avon burst out laughing.

"I forgot her birthday again and this is her revenge, isn't it?"

He saw them exchange glances, serious and unhappy glances, and realised to his growing horror that this wasn't going away.

"Whose birthday?" The woman's voice was tentative.

"My wife's of course. Right, you said I wasn't married." He shook his head in disbelief.

Blake glanced at Cally and then back again at Avon.

"And your wife, she wouldn't happen to be named Servalan by any chance, would she?"

Avon glared at him.

"If you know who she is, what kind of game are you playing?"

Cally caught her breath, but Blake pressed on.

"How long have you been married?"

Avon was blinded by another sudden spasm and flinched obviously.

"We've been married three years."

"Children?"

Avon felt a sudden cold draft run through him at the tone of the question.

"One on the way," he answered quietly.

The woman, Cally, stood suddenly and exited the room while Avon watched the man with increasing fear. What do they want from me?

* * *

**1.4**

Cally sat on the floor of the corridor, head resting against the wall. She opened her eyes as Blake approached.

"I'm sorry I ran out. I thought I might be ill."

"It's my fault. I should have warned you. He mentioned something like that in his office too."

Blake slid to a sitting position next to her, one large hand covering her small slender one in reassurance.

"It's frightening, isn't it?" he murmured. "He's Avon, but he's not Avon. Somehow I had hoped that his mind might resist it more effectively."

She squeezed his hand in reply.

"How do we reach him, Blake? What worked for you?"

Blake gave a short and bitter laugh. "Cally, I'm no model. There are still large gaps in my memory. I know there are doctors out there, ones that work within the resistance to undo this type of damage. I'm concerned about his physical condition, these migraines and the seizures he mentioned. God knows what they did to him under interrogation."

"How could… They've had him nine weeks. We know that he was under interrogation for nearly three of those weeks and then they moved him to Rehabilitation. How could she…"

"She wouldn't need his co-operation, Cally, nor even his participation. You know that. It may not even be true; it could be just another of the lies they programmed him to believe."

Blake mused that this was going to be bad enough without dealing with hurt and jealousy. Of all the Federation's acts of oppression, rehabilitation is the most destructive, both to the individual and those who care for him. I know why the people on Earth went after the rehabilitation centres after the war, but they lost a priceless opportunity. Vengeance won't overthrow the Federation, but I know how they felt. Right now, I would gladly do it myself.

"Come on, Cally. I'll need to brief the others. I gave him a sedative; he should be out for a while yet."

* * *

**1.5**

All right, let's reconstruct. That man, Blake, had a bracelet with aquitar. He knew about the matter transmission project and somehow he got me from my office to here. Where? Avon sat up gradually, sticking the tranquilliser pad on the wall, hands pressing down on the medical bunk. Yes, a steady vibration. A ship? Am I still in Earth's atmosphere or is this a spaceship?

No, go back to the bracelet. He got me from my office to this ship, with an aquitar bracelet. It can't be, but it must. This Blake person must have a fully functional matter transmission system. Remarkable! I have to see it, see how it handles transmitting living organic beings successfully.

If they already have matter transmission, why did they grab me? If they simply wanted to remove me from my project I would already be dead. I'm no use to them…unless it's political. She warned me and I ignored her; I didn't properly evaluate it, I never took it seriously. It made no sense; it still does not. They know she cannot – will not -- change policies or give them anything substantial. I am no use to a rival party; they must know my disappearance or death would only gain the existing administration sympathy. Therefore, these people are not politicians or employed by her rivals. Perhaps they want to use me to trade? That would indicate these people are part of the resistance. I've never met any resisters, besides those at University. I always thought them fools and starry-eyed children that would grow out of it. How could the resistance have a matter transmission system? If they did, I would have known. Certainly it would be classified, but I would have known something of it.

He glanced around and began to explore the medical unit with his eyes. Rising, he detached the monitor leads, coiling them distractedly and dropping the coils on top of each of the monitors, which he switched off. Cabinets: let's see what is in the cabinets. This is some type of scanner I suppose. More of the same. Tranquilliser patches. Interesting looking pads, I wonder about their purpose. Ah, drugs. Let's see if there is any betzulderine? Nothing. I wonder if it can be synthesised? Surely they must have some type of medical computer.

More medical beds, more monitors, bandages, slings, material for casts. Oh, this seems to be an internal communication panel. Here's the medical computer. Should I take a look now or wait for their return? Foolish question, Avon, let's get started.

* * *

**1.6**

You can't go home again, or can you? The flight deck, his cabin, nearly every part of _Liberator_ was home, as much home as he'd had in three years. A damn site more comfortable than resistance camps. Sighing, he called them together on the flight deck. Vila had to be woken, sleeping in his cabin this time, not during his watch.

Blake watched this new bunch, Avon's crew really, come together. It may be familiar but it still feels odd. The new faces are only a part of it although I suppose we'll eventually get used to each other, assuming of course that I stay. I thought I'd leave once Avon was back, but I can hardly say that he's back, can I?

Blake stood, moving restlessly while the other draped themselves on the flight deck couches. Tarrant ramrod straight, still a bit too FSA for Blake's comfort. Dayna lounged on the couch, half graceful girl, half predator. Vila sprawled in the corner of one couch, arms resting on its back, his comfort assured. Cally, poor Cally; she perched at the edge as if her nervous energy and worry could restore Avon to himself.

"Obviously the rescue went smoothly, but the rehabilitation seems to have been quite thorough."

Pushing blunt fingers through his mass of curls – I need to remember to get a haircut soon, it's nearly out of control and as long as Cally's – Blake began circling the couch area.

"He doesn't know me. He doesn't know Cally. He apparently doesn't know anything about _Liberator_ or any of us."

Blake paused, pulling at his lower lip.

"As far as he knows, he is Kerr Avon, lead designer of The Aquitar Project, a Federation attempt to construct a matter transmission or teleport system. He believes he's married and expecting a child."

That got them. Tarrant's jaw dropped and the young man worked his jaw around in obvious disbelief while staring at the ground. Dayna's large eyes became enormous and she aimed them in Cally's direction. Vila's face was still, his eyes calculating, processing the information.

"Who's he married to?"

Blake glanced at Vila, the first to respond, and thought Vila probably had already guessed.

"You won't like this."

"Servalan," Dayna spat. "That bitch. How better to control him?"

"A child?" Tarrant sputtered. "Servalan and Avon?"

"Spawn of the devil, isn't it?"

Four pairs of eyes raked Vila soundly.

"Imagine! Pale skin, dark hair, dark eyes, and a twisted devious mind. Could resemble either of them."

"Vila!" A thrown elbow accompanied Dayna's objection. "Blake, what do we do?"

Blake and Cally exchanged glances, each deferring to the other until Blake reluctantly continued.

"First things first, we need to take care of physical problems – migraines that we've seen and seizures that he's mentioned – which could be a side-effect from his interrogation or the conditioning. After that's under control, the best thing – at least in my opinion – is to begin revisiting his real history with him."

Blake frowned and exhaled slowly, underscoring his frustration.

"The major problem that we have is that not only doesn't he know us, he doesn't trust us. Based on the questions he's asked, he thinks he's been abducted. Considering his wife's position, it will be hard to dissuade him."

Dayna gulped, eyes wide, lips curling.

"Do you think they're really married?"

"No!" Blake paused a moment, thinking about the question after he had already answered it. "I suppose it's possible but I think it's just another lie he was fed. As far as the child, I don't know. As I said to Cally, Servalan neither needed his co-operation or participation for that to have occurred and it's a damn effective means of preventing him from hurting her."

"If she's carrying Avon's child, I doubt I could either," Cally added quietly.

"Speak for yourself!" Dayna snapped. "I wouldn't hesitate!"

Tarrant finally raised his eyes from the floor.

"What about doctors? Are there specialists that can help?"

Blake finally sat, next to Tarrant to his own surprise, and rested his elbows on his knees.

"Yes, I've heard of some within the resistance, but I have to admit the idea of another doctor messing with my mind is off-putting. I doubt Avon would like it either and I hesitate to do that to him."

"There's not much choice, is there?"

Practical young Tarrant, things must seem so much simpler at your age than they do at mine. Blake smiled ruefully. Here I am going on as if I'm a grandfather; I'm probably only a dozen, maybe fifteen, years senior to Tarrant. It seems a lifetime since I was his age.

"No, not if we've already assumed the right to make decisions for him," Blake responded quietly. "Bear in mind, Tarrant, there's nothing wrong with his reasoning ability. He can make decisions for himself. It's his memory they've altered. He's not incompetent and I'm not going to force him into something of which he wants no part."

Blake had pitched his voice to its lowest, most serious register. Hear me youngsters and don't think you'll make decisions contrary to mine in this matter. I'll hear your input, I'll gladly accept as much information as you can find, but you won't decide what's right for Avon. I'll do that; with Cally's input, of course.

* * *

_Nine weeks earlier…_

"


	2. Chapter 2

**2.1**

The cellar was dimly lit, suffused with the stench of mould and stale air. Servalan's hand sought and found the small gun. She turned, training it on the kneeling figure.

"Avon."

His attention remained completely on his embrace of death. He cradled in his arms the death of his past and future, seasoned with the bitterness of knowing that nothing had been what it seemed. Aware of the threat, he answered in a hollow voice.

"You really think I care?"

Servalan held his teleport bracelet in her other hand. She pointed the gun at it and fired; sparks flew around Avon's head, landing near Anna's body. The top half of the teleport bracelet shrivelled and blackened.

"Sula! Sula!"

Servalan whirled quickly, instincts true to her training and self-interest as she shot the man calling his dead commander. The adrenaline drain when he fell left her slightly breathless. She smiled and she waited. She had heard the broadcasts; knew her troops had surrounded the building and would soon secure it. This little coup was already at an end, its leaders dead, and its primary result the shattering of personal illusions, both hers and Avon's.

Servalan raised her eyes as she heard the steady pounding of boots in the passageway above. She inhaled, quickly composing herself and donning the mask of command. The rapid thumping of boots on the stairway was her cue.

"It's about time! Do I have to do everything myself?"

The senior member of the small squad, a 1st Lieutenant, immediately came alert. His men followed, their faces more horrified than if they were facing battle.

"This man is my prisoner. I want him secured. Dispose of the bodies."

She fought the urge to glance at Avon and Anna before she swept up the stairs to resume her rightful place at the head of the government.

* * *

**2.2**

Avon fought as the troopers pulled him from Anna's body. With not much left for which to fight, he was willing to suffer a few thrown punches or kicks. Finally, with three troopers grabbing him and another trooper pulling Anna's body, he was forced facedown on the ground. Face pressed to the damp, cold cellar floor, his hands were pulled roughly behind him and bound. It all seemed rather pointless.

He was aware of a trooper in front of him and one behind as he was herded up the staircase. Marched down an endless series of hallways, he collided with shoulders of countless soldiers. Voices shouted across the hall; pounding footfalls echoed through the empty rooms, above his head as they ran floor-to-floor, ferreting out resisters. Finally, Avon arrived at an outside door. The night was rather misty, lending an appropriate edge to the dullness of his feelings. It softened the edges of the building, the soldiers' helmets and the transport into which he was forced. Numb as he was, he idly noted the amount of Federation personnel gathered around the transport. His two guards from the cellar remained with him and eventually two other men, probably officers, joined them in the transport and sealed the hatch.

* * *

**2.3**

"Vila, I promise you…"

Vila's entire body twitched, even without Dayna's threats. "I know, I know Dayna."

"Just another few seconds…" Cally's attention was completely on the teleport co-ordinates. "All right, that's it." She leapt from behind the console, battling Tarrant and Dayna to be first to the teleport pad. "Vila, put us down and be ready to bring us – all of us – right back up."

Vila threw the switches, trembling as he sat down behind the teleport console.

The cellar was crowded. They stood shoulders touching, facing outward, in a semblance of a triangle. Cally saw the troopers first. Two were carrying Hob; another two were carrying Anna. Others were poking about throughout the cellar. A quick exchange of fire along with three searching glances was enough.

"Vila! Teleport!"

Vila's face mirrored Cally's own rising fear, but in his case it was mixed with guilt.

"What now?" Dayna's voice was firm as if she was still expecting someone to come up with a plan of action.

Tarrant opened his mouth, "I, ah…" His voice trailed off and he shook his head as he walked to the console.

Cally dropped her teleport bracelet in bracelet rack.

"The building's been retaken. Servalan's gone. He's probably her prisoner as we didn't see his body with the others." She closed her eyes, the only outward sign that she had had to force the last few words from a suddenly constricted throat.

Dayna looked from Tarrant to Cally rapidly. "So what do we do? We can't just leave him there!"

At their expressions of helpless frustration, she stalked back to the teleport pad.

"Vila! Put me back down!"

Vila shook his head in misery and Tarrant reached out a hand, to delay and to comfort her.

"Dayna, you don't know where they've taken him. Getting yourself killed or captured won't help him."

Dayna was enraged. "I can't leave him there. She has him!"

"No," Tarrant whispered, smoothly pulling Dayna from the teleport pad. "Of course, we won't leave him. We'll regroup, find out where he is, and go back. Right now though, all we'll do is get ourselves in trouble and that won't help Avon, will it, Dayna?"

Before she realised it, Dayna had been guided from the teleport pad, and gently directed toward the flight deck. Tarrant escorted her, one hand gripping Dayna's left wrist, the other arm draped around her shoulders. Cally and Vila watched as the pilot led Dayna away from the teleport, speaking soothingly to her as if she were in need of comfort.

"Much good Tarrant's doing. He's holding up Dayna, who is perfectly capable of beating him to a pulp, while you're ready to fall over."

Cally was astonished that Vila's arm was around her waist, gently guiding her to the seating area behind the teleport console. They sat there in stunned silence, each struggling to comprehend what had happened, wrapped in individual states of misery.

Cally sat up suddenly as she felt the engines shift. She glanced quickly at Vila in alarm.

"Tarrant's taking us out of orbit!"

"Cally, they know we're here. Sitting here and getting blown up won't help Avon."

Cally lay back, closing her eyes. "He's gone, Vila," she said desolately. "She has him." The cold pushed past her jumper and settled in her bones, sinking into the very marrow.

* * *

**2.4**

The transport rose and travelled at a fast clip. Its engines provided a pleasant droning sound upon which Avon fixated his limited attention. It was soothing, white noise drowning out the irritating chatter of the two Federation officers who stared at him as if he were an exotic animal. The thought that they might have opposed each other in battle or during a _Liberator_ attack floated across his mind but he let it float out again, deeming it irrelevant. Finally he sank into himself, completely unaware of the soldiers, the transport, or even the lovely droning noise of the engines.

Indifferent to his surroundings, he was startled when one of his guards slapped him to break the reverie. They had landed; based on a quick glance, they were inside a large hangar. Pushed from the transport, the two guards bracketed him as they followed the officers across the lengthy building. Avon could see other Federation personnel emerging from a doorway, striding toward his little party. The guards held him at a distance so that he could not hear any of the words passed between the officers from the transport and those who came to meet them.

I'm a prisoner, he reminded himself dully, Servalan's prisoner. Interrogation will be first; this must be Central Security. He almost laughed as he remembered that he had left their hands that same morning with his own prisoner: Shrinker. Hours ago? No, that did not even occur in my lifetime. That was someone else.

His cellar guards escorted him forward, turning him over to two other guards, dressed identically. He was marched through the rest of the hangar and through the double doors which opened onto a long passageway. Painted a rather institutional green, it was notable only in that Avon had never before seen it. There were doors set into the walls on each side every five metres, and corridors that branched off to the right every thirty metres. Finally, near the end of the hallway, his escort party turned down one of those corridors. Each of the doors set into the wall on the left was barred. Most of them were empty and Avon was given time enough to note only that some were occupied.

His escort party stopped in front of a cell and he walked forward co-operatively as the barred door opened. He stood waiting in the cell, expecting one of the guards to remove his restraints, but the door quickly closed and most of the escort party departed. One guard remained, stationed outside his door.

Avon smiled very slightly. I am an honoured prisoner to warrant my own guard.

Sighing in what he hoped wasn't complete pathos, Avon knelt on the sole bed in the cell. It was attached to the wall and its mattress was set solidly into the frame. It wasn't easy to lie down naturally with his hands behind his back; Avon shifted into a sitting position and then settled for a roll onto his side. After all, it had been an incredibly long five, now six, days and apparently his luck had not changed in the least. At least the cell was dim. Perhaps he'd even sleep.

"


	3. Chapter 3

**3.1**

The clatter of the food tray woke him. For one wonderful terrible minute, he wondered where he was; then he remembered. He remembered everything. Anna, not you too?

An oppressive dullness emerged, numbing the sharper edges of his agony. Anna's dead, but then again the Anna I've held onto for so many years never was. An illusion. She used me; an assignment for her and oh, wasn't I easily convinced. All those barriers, all those defences, so carefully built and I let her in. I invited her past everything that protected me. I would have given her anything; I_gave _her everything: my love, my trust. I gave up my life as it was; I would have given her my life. She was the only person for whom I would have died, and she never even existed.

Grief? I've lived with grief for years. I've grieved you every second I've lived since. Not a moment passed without bitter blame for my role in your death. For years, Anna! For years, I grieved a figment – was it my imagination or yours? This is not grief.

Oh, what an actress you were! And I, the skeptic, the one who sees through the disguises and perceives the traps, how easily I was trapped by your act. Did you laugh at me? At my humble protestations? Of course not, you were a professional with a job to do. That your job was to destroy my life was meaningless to you. I was an assignment. You took everything I had and then moved onto your next.

Oh, God! Your next assignment. Did he fall in love with you too? Did he promise you the world? Did he destroy himself in order to please you? Did you whisper to him after making love? Did you call him "my love," as you did me? What an utter fool I was, I am. For all I know, you were running more than one at a time.

It would have been better had I died first. Had they sentenced me to death at my trial, I would never have known. Fool! Had I not obsessed with avenging your death, paying my respects to your memory in the only way I knew, I would never have known. Paying respects to an illusion? Pathetic.

Servalan has granted me a great favour. Would that she had pulled the trigger of the gun with the muzzle against my head rather than against the bracelet. At least I will not face them. Those wondering faces, minds incapable of grasping what it is like to love someone so completely… I could not have faced them again, in my shame. Humiliated by what never was, willing to die for something I only dreamed.

Well, that is no longer a problem. Courtesy of Madam President I will not receive their pity. I will be questioned and then executed. Oh to speed straight to the execution! Why wait? Perhaps an attack on a guard? Go out fighting, Avon, as if you still had some reason to live. Maintain appearances, perhaps some might even believe that your life or your death is important.

Yes, that's it. Maintain the appearance of a man whose very life was built on falsehood. A man whose purpose was constructed out of cobwebs. Who am I? Kerr Avon, the great computer genius whose great mistake was in trusting others? Oh, yes. In no way did I ever comprehend the magnitude of that mistake. My great mistake, the exit visas? What a fool! My entire life was not my own; I was a puppet and Anna the puppeteer. I was so blind that I never even saw my true betrayer.

This end must be. I cannot imagine emerging once again, surrounded by others. It is far easier to die alone than to keep them all away. No one can betray me now. There is no one whom I need trust, no one against whom to maintain my walls of isolation. It will not be necessary to reconstruct that which you've destroyed Anna, to build those walls higher and more solidly so that no one ever penetrates. I will be free of all of that need soon. After all this time, I will finally be free of all of it. Oddly enough I thought I could bring this to pass with vengeance and then construct a new Avon. I had no idea the depths of my ignorance.

Lying on the cell bunk, Avon allowed himself to sink past thought, down, further and further into a deep place that he could not identify. A private hell, he would have called it if required to explain. A dark place occupied only by bitterness and desolation. Respite from memories that had provided a purpose but now only added to his complete humiliation.

* * *

**3.2**

"We've outrun any pursuit ships, Tarrant. In fact, we've run nearly two sectors. Do you have a plan?"

Despite his soothing words and reassurances, Dayna had barely spoken more than a few polite words to him since he had broken orbit. Now Tarrant frowned. In fact he did not have a plan, nor did he have any idea of how to develop one. Still, without Avon, _Liberator_ was now his ship and it was important to convey authority.

"According to Orac, it is probable that Avon was taken to the Interrogation Facilities of the main Federation Security Complex."

He trusted Dayna could interpret his message. If she could not, one of the others certainly would serve as interpreter.

Vila's quick glance at Cally conveyed his understanding, as did Cally's sudden look of pain.

"The heart of Central Security, then?"

Tarrant nodded in response to Vila's question, watching Dayna's frustrated comprehension.

"So, what's the plan to get him out?" she insisted.

"I don't have one, but I'm willing to listen. I monitored the homing signal in the event he was able to somehow reactivate it; I haven't seen any readings."

"Tarrant," Vila interjected, "Dayna's first time on Earth was…well, you know. She hasn't an idea of the level of security we're talking about."

"I have!" Infuriated, Dayna turned her glare from Tarrant to Vila.

"Excellent point, Vila," Tarrant said slowly, stroking his chin. Actually it_was_ an excellent point. Dayna would have no point of reference for the density of dome cities, particularly the Federation annexes which housed the sprawling and multi-level Security complex. It was no place he had ever seen personally, but stories of Central Security percolated throughout FSA and he was aware of its location. Interrogation facilities would be particularly well guarded. No, this wasn't a rescue from an outlying Federation base.

"Orac, please gather all possible information about the main Federation Security Complex with particular attention to the Interrogation Facilities. Details to be forwarded to all workstations. Engineering drawings or schematics would be ideal, maps of any kind helpful. Please display a visual of the complex on Zen's main screen as soon as it is available."

Orac had never really liked him; perhaps it would be necessary to remind Orac that it wouldn't get its preferred owner back without substantial co-operation from the nasty little box of lights.

--It is expected that it will take 2.3 hours to gather all immediately available requested information. I have forwarded currently available visuals to Zen for projection--

Co-operation. Imagine that.

Tarrant turned, carefully watching Dayna's reaction to the visual display. The complex was imposing and he heard her muffled gasp though she controlled her expression well.

Dayna took a deep breath.

"Well, in a complex that large, there are probably to be a lot of people, aren't there?" She turned to the rest of them, smiling. "We're less likely to be recognised as strangers."

Cally smiled in return. "Especially in Federation uniforms, wouldn't you say?"

Tarrant was reminded suddenly of Cally's guerrilla past. Well, if the two of them wanted to take these insane risks, he'd play along, until it risked the ship.

* * *

**3.3**

Avon heard and ignored the clatter of the food tray. Eventually the guards and the interrogators would communicate and learn that he had not consumed any food or water since his capture; he counted on the bureaucracy to give him enough time.

There were some benefits, he supposed, to interrogation at headquarters rather than the outposts. Of course being a personal prisoner of the President conveyed its own, well he hesitated to call them privileges considering it was still interrogation. The first day, the day after Anna died -- all right the day after I _killed_ Anna – the doctors had performed a physical examination. Imagine that? Avon couldn't remember the last physical exam he had, with the exception, of course, of the _Liberator_'s medical diagnostic computers in response to injuries or illness. Of course this exam was purely functional. Instead of a stress test, they had performed tests to determine his pain thresholds. They had taken blood to determine which drugs would be most effective in inducing his co-operation.

After several hours of tests Avon was, to his astonishment, returned to his cell. His wrist restraints had been removed during the medical examinations and he retained that freedom. He sat on the bunk, idly glancing around the cell.

The agony of Anna's betrayal had not lessened. If anything, it had replaced the bitter blame that had been his constant accompaniment these past years. Every thought contaminated by it, every breath a reminder of the lies he had swallowed. With time on his hands, with nothing to do but think, Avon endlessly revisited his time with Anna, searching for the inconsistencies, the clues he had missed. He disassembled their relationship into its constituent parts as he would a faulty circuit board, testing each component for validity. Each moment, each word, each intonation was examined for fault. Where were the indications of failure?

He knew the effort was ridiculous as the flaw was in the relationship's design, actually in one of its designers' intent, but it allowed a temporary feeling of control. He imposed discipline in a process that held the pain at a detached distance and consumed time that otherwise would have been given over to desolation.

Lying on his bunk, he drifted to sleep while ripping apart the details of their second night together. Remembrance became a dream, a vivid recollection of each intimate moment. To his chagrin, his detachment remained in place and a voice reminded him as he worshipped her body with his mouth that the pain would return at dream's end. He ignored that voice, as perhaps he had ignored the clues, surrendering to a memory, an illusion, of complete happiness. So few, he protested feebly, let me just have this one.

He awoke, again, to the clatter of the food tray. Like all of the others, it was pushed through a small opening at the bottom of the door. Despite acceptance of his looming death, he had automatically evaluated the opening, wondering how to make use of it for his escape. He smiled as he recognised the emergence of a habit acquired during the past three years and not easily unlearned. The food tray offered little help: a small bowl full of something that could be eaten with a disposable spoon. Nothing that could be used as a weapon, either against a guard or against one's self. The food, well he had already chosen not to eat. It's failure to arise any semblance of appetite only made his task easier.

Avon walked the two paces to reach the small sink in his cell. He washed his face; no soap, only cold water, and ran wet fingers through his hair. He gave thanks that he had taken a quick shower and shave after bringing Shrinker up to _Liberator_. Had this followed immediately upon his previous five days, the frustration of being filthy would irritate him greatly. It seemed such a minor detail, considering the enormous upheavals in the last six – no, now seven – days, but Avon acknowledged that his fastidious nature was too ingrained to dismiss.

Typical bureaucracy: the interrogators apparently distrustful of the doctors' conclusions initiated the same tests of pain tolerance. The same damn questions – name, date of birth, father's name, mother's name – all of the minute details of his life asked. Each refusal to answer was followed by an electrical shock, the magnitude of which increased until the point where he first began to evince what the interrogators considered pain. As in most matters, their determination of pain was not entirely accurate: their decision was somewhere between the point where he distinctly wanted to cry out and the point where he actually made a sound. Avon only hoped that they didn't feel the need to repeat the blood work; his abstention from food or water would show too quickly if they took more blood.

Escorted into the room that would be used for the duration of his interrogation, he was slightly unnerved that one of his interrogators was a woman: a small, fine-boned, light-haired woman. Servalan, you spawn of hell's deepest level, he railed internally. Damn you to insufferable agonies and off-the-rack ill-fitting clothing. I hope you die alone and friendless, as you now live. I hope that Blake, if that bastard is still alive after ducking me for the last half-year, overthrows your repressive tyranny. I hope he treats you to the same consideration you've given him: a chance at a new life, with a new mind. Oh, that would be rich, a perfect solution. But how could any of us ever be assured that your mind was sufficiently wiped? How could any rest easy with a viper still in our midst? Don't be more of a fool than necessary, Avon. You know that in the unlikely event that Blake wins, you'll be long dead and forgotten. Just another life tossed away in the struggle for control of this galaxy. A struggle between good and evil, Blake would say; I'd reply that it was a struggle between the existing oppression and an optimistic and well-intentioned form of the same. When we meet in Hell he can tell me who was right. Knowing him, he'll probably lie.

Oh, they've decided to go the drug route. This should be interesting. I'm rather unsusceptible to most of the drugs they've used in the past. Of course, they'd know that since they have access to all of my records and they ran extensive blood tests yesterday. Something new and different? It's at least a change from thrown fists, laser probes, and truncheons. Avon smiled: a twisted, ironic, and fleeting smile. Imagine; even Federation interrogation has levels and distinctions. I suppose this is Alpha.

* * *

**3.4**

"Are you sure? Once you're down there you won't be able to reconsider."

Irritably Dayna shook her head at Tarrant's persistent and unwanted attempts to dissuade her. Tarrant, this may be ill founded, and if it is, I'll regret thinking it, but you don't seem very eager to rescue Avon. Is it his ship you want? You'd let him die so that you can claim ownership of _Liberator_? If so, you're not the man I thought.

"I'll be fine!" She threw her high spirits in his face. If you've no bit of loyalty in you, I'd rather…well, since I'm talking to myself I must admit that I'd rather not be going. This is a bit too scary, even for me, but I've no family but this one and Avon is an essential part. He's both father and older brother to me. Hell, Avon brought me into it; I won't turn from him now when he needs me most.

Dayna glanced at Cally, admiring the other woman's obvious calm. Cally seemed so – well – centered for lack of a better word. As if she were picking up something familiar, applying herself to a skill that she had mastered in the past and returned to with ease. When I'm Cally's age…here I go on as if she's an old woman when anyone can see she's not. Not old that is, just experienced, more worldly than I am.

"Cally, were you ever on Earth before, well, you know?"

Cally raised her head, her face showing obvious surprise.

"No, Dayna. Actually, that was my first time too. I was here once before, but stayed on board _Liberator_ when the rest went down."

Then Cally frowned, her eyes clouded with sudden memory. Vila, seated at the teleport console, looked at Cally with sad eyes, sharing something of which Dayna hadn't a clue.

Dayna realised with irony that the two off-worlders were heading down to Earth while the two Earth natives stayed aboard _Liberator_. Was their decision based on unshared knowledge, or just an unwillingness to risk their lives to save Avon?

"Well, we off-worlders will try not to display our ignorance while you Terran boys sit up here and protect the ship, all right?"

That worked. She could see Tarrant's obvious hurt that she'd question his bravery. Oh Tarrant, your bravery is never in doubt. Gallant crazy boy that you are, it's your loyalty to Avon that I doubt, not your courage.

She felt Cally's hand on her arm and sensed the other woman's approval of her taunts of the men.

"I'm set if you are, Dayna."

"Yes, I'm set. Vila, put us down."

* * *

**3.5**

The plan was working well but Dayna's nerves were still frayed. Perhaps it was the alien feeling of being on a planet with the sky sealed off. The air was as recycled as that on _Liberator_ and the ground was artificial. How could anyone live this way?

Few gave them a second glance beyond the appreciate smiles and leers at two attractive women garbed in pretty dresses. They looked as if they were the wives or mistresses of someone within the government. Perhaps even someone within the High Council. Dayna was constantly aware of the gun strapped to one leg, a knife strapped to the other. Hidden by the flowing dress, the weapons were her touchstones. Their very presence reassured her. Their teleport bracelets were worn openly, flaunted, displayed as beautiful jewelery, which, of course, they were with the careful addition of a few gemstones from the treasure room and some camouflage courtesy of Vila.

Once inside the women's barracks – Dayna was amazed at how easily the guard had believed Cally's story that she was visiting her younger sister but only had 30 minutes before meeting her husband, Councillor Verket – it was almost simple to break into a few rooms and find uniforms that fit. Stuffing the uniforms into their shopping bags, Dayna noted how kindly Cally thanked the guard.

It was still early evening and they had agreed it would be best to go in late, after midnight. Dayna had accepted Tarrant's rationale that it was when humans were most susceptible. She understood without it being stated that it would be more likely that Avon would be in his cell then, rather than under interrogation.

Her experience with Federation interrogation was as lacking as her experience with planet Earth. Of course she was a native of the planet but had few memories really. She knew enough of interrogation to worry for Avon though she knew damn well that he had been through it before. He was prepared enough to go through it voluntarily, surely he could survive these few days since his capture. Well, more like a week really with the running we did at first and then the planning. Still, it was Avon. He could make it through a week, she was sure of it.

* * *

**3.6**

Avon woke groggily, awareness of noises and lights slowing infiltrating his reeling mind. He lay quietly in place, eyes closed, listening to learn where he was, trying to remember. The voices weren't those of his interrogators; no, those he knew all too well. Nor was he in his cell. There were no conversations there; silence reigned throughout the cell complex. The only noises in the cell were the stamping boots, the clattering food trays, and occasional guard shouts and prisoner whimpers.

The pinch in his left forearm brought recollection. That's a drip for fluids, I'm in the medical unit. Oh yes, I forgot, they moved me here when I collapsed after the second or was it the third day of questioning. So close damn it! I was so close before they realised that dehydration was setting in. Couldn't even get that right. I gave my heart to an illusion, I was stupid enough to get shot by the exit visa dealer, got caught trying to escape, and I can't even kill myself properly. Ripping the tubing out of my arm only brought on restraints.

What a co-operative prisoner I've been. The drip makes it so much easier for the interrogators to inject their drugs, their horribly effective drugs. Those drugs, those machines; heaven knows what I haven't told them already, whether or not it made sense. They've all the time in the world to take my answers and carefully reconstruct them into coherency. I know I haven't even approached that state.

Drugs, all of the time, every minute. Drugs to make me talk, drugs to make me co-operative, drugs to keep me sedated. My head is swimming as if I'm feverish. I admit my ignorance. I had not realised the extent of their expertise nor of their biochemical developments. It was really quite careless of me not to realise their capabilities. After all they did to destroy Blake's memories, it seems child's play to extract all they want from me.

If Servalan had her way, she'd copy everything in my brain onto a computer for endless analysis and projection. A brain print wouldn't do. It's useless to have raw data without a tool that organises it and puts it to work. For that reason, I suppose, I should be thankful. She'll not attempt a mindwipe, not if she wants to keep me useful.

Fool, going on as if she'll keep me alive. Once the interrogation is finished, so am I. Blake was an example in his way when they destroyed his memories and later when they convicted him of trumped up charges. I, too, was an example to my class. Stay within the rules; there are no considerations for your abilities or your achievements. Now I suppose I'll be the ultimate example. Since the War, the Federation needs every possible method of showing its existence, its might, that it can suppress opposition. She doesn't have Blake; my execution will serve for now.

* * *

**3.7**

Failure burned bitterly in Dayna's mouth. Failure! She didn't accept failure, never had, and now when it was so important that she succeed, when Avon's life was at stake, she had failed him.

Frantically she installed Cally in the medical bed. With Vila's help she keyed in the commands to the diagnostic computer, set up the appropriate monitors. After the third time of Vila bouncing her out of his way with his hip, she stepped back and let him take over.

All had gone well, up to a point. An innate huntress, she was delighted and awed by the change in Cally. No sign of the gentle peacemaker, Cally had metamorphosized into a stealthy creature of the night, armed and determined. They overcame the entry guards and Dayna guarded Cally's back as she accessed the guard's computer. Obviously in their years together Avon and Cally had schooled each other.

Cally jogged quickly and nearly silently through the corridors of the building. Each encounter with a guard was handled silently and thoroughly; Cally wiped her knife blade on the guard's uniform afterwards and Dayna hid the body. They had reached Avon's floor before the alarm was sounded. Cally broke into a desperate run and Dayna followed. Too many guards for a knife this time; Cally exchanged shots, taking down as many as four guards before she was hit. Pinned down by gunfire from more than one direction, only twenty metres from the corridor where Avon's cell was located, Dayna called for teleport. It was no comfort knowing that Avon would have approved of her decision.

* * *


	4. Chapter 4

**4.1**

"Tarrant, you know we have to go back."

For a moment Tarrant was convinced that Dayna was referring to the ship. Startled and worried, he started to ask why and then realised the real matter at hand. Increasing his stride, his long legs setting a considerable pace, he acknowledged her with a brief nod.

The subject was inescapable really. Until the others knew for sure that Avon was not coming back, they had made it clear to Tarrant that his command was temporary. He hadn't expected Cally or Vila to accept him easily but had hoped Dayna would be more supportive. Avon, Avon, Avon. It was impossible to touch something on _Liberator_ without being forced to acknowledge Avon's influence and resentment rubbed at Tarrant like a new pair of boots.

Dayna kept pace with him easily, a loping stride in boots slightly more sensible than the shoes she normally wore.

"I mean it Tarrant! He's still alive."

Tarrant gnawed at his bottom lip as he walked. This was hardly the time for the discussion but he could understand why Dayna had avoided it on_Liberator_.

"Dayna, let's just pick up the supplies we need and I promise we'll sit down and discuss it when we get back." He turned, looking quickly around as they entered the small trading post. "This is hardly the place," he said in a firm whisper.

"That's what you said before," she replied with determination, but in a lower tone.

"Dayna, it's not deliberate," he sighed, running a hand through his curls as he stopped under a Venuam tree.

The brutal heat and brightness of the planet was dimmed slightly under the coolness of the tree. The shade was welcome. This planet, Tarz, was outfitted for function not beauty. Even the tree was ugly, a squat, massive grey trunk with spreading purple leaves, each easily the size of Orac. Tarrant caught his breath and gave serious consideration to Dayna's issue. If they were to meet his contact and pick up the parts for the neutron blaster, it would have to be a quick conversation but he knew that she would persist.

"Dayna," he started and then hesitated. Let's choose the words with deliberation here, Tarrant.

"Dayna, we've heard nothing of an execution so you're right, he's probably still alive. On the other hand, Cally's barely out of the woods. Vila's been playing nursemaid and you and I have been handling everything else. We're not in much shape to help him, if there's anything left to rescue after nearly three weeks."

He held up a hand as she prepared to deliver her counter-attack.

"I'm not saying that we won't try. First things first. We resupply. We get the parts we need for the neutron blaster. We get as much as we can on our shopping list, and we do that now. All right?"

She nodded silently and Tarrant gave a small laugh. All right, she had conceded this moment but was determined to press the issue. How the hell we do it is something else entirely.

* * *

**4.2**

Drug-induced dreams plagued Avon. He woke from another dream about the teleport. In this one, he was trying to determine how to rebuild one particular section in order to rescue Blake and Anna from Servalan. How odd, he couldn't remember when Blake and Anna had met. Of course he hadn't seen Blake in a while and Anna had always seemed mysterious in her comings and goings. Then again, perhaps it was the mystery that drew him, the sense of never quite understanding either of them. He wondered if he had introduced them but had since forgotten. It all seemed rather hazy and he struggled to put pieces together.

No, damn it! Blake never met Anna! I'm blurring things together. Avon shook his head rapidly, shaking the cobwebs of his brain as a wet dog shakes water from its coat. They remained but he felt slightly clearer for knowing they were there.

Where are the interrogators? Aren't they coming today or am I done?

He tried to remember what he had told them, but he was having difficulty remembering what was dreamed and what was real. Blake, forgive me. I think I've told them everything, all that I know about matter transmission and everything I know about _Liberator_ and Orac. If I haven't yet, they'll get it soon. I can hold out against pain, but they've invaded my mind. I have no refuge.

* * *

**4.3**

There were more drugs and Avon was still restrained to the medical bed, or placed within one of their diabolical machines, but the questions had stopped. Dimly he perceived that something was different about this aspect of the interrogation, but faltered when he tried to identify exactly what was occurring. Some of the interrogators were different, but the small, fair-haired woman remained, a constant taunt. Voices droned on and on and Avon's usual mental escape routes rang closed, one after another.

He found solace only in a dim memory from his childhood. He was five, curious and bored with his studies. The covering of the air duct in his room caught his eye and he abandoned the mathematics lesson quickly for a chance to explore. He removed the air duct cover with the tool that was normally used for securing computer connections. The air duct opened as if it were a present, a wonderfully large tunnel precisely sized for a curious five year old boy.

He crawled inside and noticed that it ran horizontally through the house. He turned left to see if he could spy on his brother. Pulling himself forward with his elbows, he belly-crawled through the grey metallic darkness of the tunnel towards an oblong light several meters away. He lay quietly in the air duct, calming his breathing as he peered into his older brother's room, long off-limits to curious and annoying younger brothers. His delight at his surreptitious surveillance was accompanied by pride in his escapade, and an intuitive understanding that if he were to make use of this avenue, it would be necessary to do so before he grew any larger.

Avon noted that it was impossible to open the vent cover in his brother's room without an adaptation to the computer tool. This time, at least, he'd settle for a voyeuristic view into his brother's life. He froze as the door to the room opened and his brother entered. Suppressing panic, he remained completely still and held his breath until he realised that the vent cover masked him completely. He peered round the compulsively tidy bedroom as Rik stowed his pack in the equally tidy cupboard. There wasn't very much of interest and Kerr quickly grew bored as his brother set to work in front of his own computer workstation. To his horror, he realised that if he moved now, Rik might hear him and he'd lose his secret tunnel.

He settled himself into a comfortable position. I could be here a long while, I hope Mum doesn't come looking for me. He looked about the inside of the air duct inquisitively. Further ahead, there were more oblong lights and what might be a vertical drop. If I brought a rope with me, I could drop down the shaft just as Rik does when he's climbing. If I wait until he's at school, perhaps I can nick his climbing rope. I wonder why I never tried this before. I wonder if the cats know about this tunnel; they'd love it. It's a lovely place to hide and just the right size, not at all dusty or dirty.

He heard his Mum calling and tensed. Luckily Rik left his room to answer and Kerr pushed his way backward through the air duct until he reached his own room. He spilled out of his secret tunnel and hurriedly pushed the cover back into place. He would keep it his: a place for hiding and thinking and for keeping secrets.

* * *

**4.4**

In the months he had been with _Liberator_, they had made half-hearted attempts at nearly everything from that disaster on Obsidian that nearly cost them their lives and their ship, to their attempt at a little piracy at Kairos, which nearly cost them their lives and their ship. In Tarrant's opinion, there had been a decided lack of leadership and no evidence of any plan whatsoever. Were they rebels or not? It seemed foolish to drift from one event to another, reacting to each situation as it occurred. They had the best and fastest ship in the galaxy. It was time to use it for a purpose, and he intended to provide purpose where Avon had provided only puzzles.

From what he had learned from Vila and Cally, and what he heard via grapevine, Blake had used _Liberator_ for lighting raids on Federation bases. Neither Vila nor Cally could provide any of the criteria used to pick the targets. Tarrant had hoped for a log or some clue to what drove Blake's selection. After fruitless search it appeared that Blake had operated in a reactive, sometimes impulsive, manner that Avon had apparently adopted. It really was amazing that _Liberator_ hadn't been destroyed or that it had achieved its reputation. On the other hand, having absolutely no plan did make it quite a bit harder for the Federation to make any projections of future activities or location. Tarrant snorted; he doubted that was the reason they had lacked a plan.

It wasn't going to be easy to impose order midstream on a group that wouldn't even recognise his leadership. Blake had been a resistance leader, and his identity had been imprinted upon his original crew. Avon, as his successor, seemed driven to both carry out Blake's purpose and reject Blake's purpose. It was damn hard to decide if Avon even had a purpose of his own or just reacted to Blake.

Well, resistance brought fame but not fortune. The downside was the bounty now associated with each of them, a consequence of association with Avon, and indirectly with Blake. On the other hand, Blake and Avon really were the big names and it might be possible in this time of recovery after the war to quietly fade from the picture. Let's consider that a possibility, what's the downside? Cally claims to be truly committed to the resistance so she might jump ship. Face facts Tarrant, Servalan wants The _Liberator_ and Orac whether Blake, Avon, or someone else commands it. She won't forget us.

So we've the fastest ship in the galaxy and the best computer. We can put both at the disposal of the resistance movement, which is fractured and somewhat invisible, or we can use both to our advantage. I doubt I'd even know how to contact the resistance movement. Well, the choices are certainly narrowing, aren't they?

If we put _Liberator_ and Orac to use for our advantage, what could we do? The Treasure Room rather limits the need for money as a goal in itself. It's becoming obvious that I need to develop some goals. I suppose we could go after money or goods as a way of hurting the Federation. That way we have a purpose and there is a rather noble aspect to it as well. We could try to contact the resistance and provide them with the money or goods we steal. Hmm, this could actually be a plan. Now how does one go about contacting the resistance?

* * *

**4.5**

I must admit I've become an expert at turning tragedy into triumph. She stroked his hair back from his face, a smile tugging at her lips. It's a gift really: the ability to recognise opportunities, the ability to absorb attacks in such a way that one can turn the momentum against one's enemies. The principles of self-defence could be applied to any number of situations and it only took imagination to see an enemy as a potential ally; imagination and the will to make it happen.

It had been six weeks since she had last seen him. In that time he had lost easily five kilos; his face was gaunt and his colour pallid. Of course, he hadn't looked well when he had appeared in the cellar. He looked better on Sarran, even after surviving the War and abandoning _Liberator_. On Sarran, I gave you the choice of ruling with me and you declined. It was an impulsive offer; one that served the needs of that situation. It was wise to decline.

There are, however, certain advantages to having you with me rather than dead. What a waste that would have been, she thought as she caressed his cheek. He watched her, his eyes were confused and uncertain but there was no resistance or challenge in them. We make a powerful team, I in the lead and you supporting, of course. We make a striking couple, so similar in colouring, and in intelligence. Of course, you're nearly as ruthless as I am, but that ruthlessness will now serve my purposes rather than oppose them.

With a final gentle and reassuring stroke, she smiled and turned away from Avon to receive the doctors' status report. The group of experts stood awaiting her, near enough to observe her interaction with their patient, far enough to be out of earshot.

"Status?" Servalan arched a delicate eyebrow gracefully, observing that the group had elected Davies the spokesperson. Kat Davies had been selected for the project purely because of her coincidental resemblance to Anna Grant. Servalan found it ironic that she had taken charge.

"We are on schedule, Madam President, but there is a challenge which should be brought to your attention." Davies was deferential, a little too obsequious to gain any respect from Servalan.

"What is it?"

"You are already aware that a complete mindwipe would have been more reliable than selective conditioning. We've suppressed the patient's ability to access undesirable memories. We could not eliminate those memories entirely without creating gaps within those you wished to retain."

"Get to the point, doctor." Servalan was impatient and eager to move on to her next scheduled activity. This was a personal pleasure; her day allowed for little opportunity to indulge herself this way.

"Based on this patient's resistance, permanent memory suppression and acceptance of the implants must be chemically maintained. The only alternative is a complete mindwipe."

Oh. That was a challenge. Unexpected, but not unconquerable. She sighed and waved the matter off as negligible.

"Make up some reason why he needs daily medication and insert in with the implants. An accident, an injury. Must I think of everything myself?"

"No, Madam President."

"Good. I want him ready for me in a week, and for God's sake, start feeding him properly. He looks awful."

* * *

**4.6**

Tarrant's plan was received with less enthusiasm than he would have liked.

"It's not that I disagree with you," Dayna explained for what seemed the fortieth time. "That makes sense as an overall goal. In the meantime, we might try to locate Blake. With his help, we'd have a better shot at getting Avon back."

Tarrant stalked around the medical unit. Cally's continuing recovery made it necessary to hold all crew meetings here rather than the flight deck and its closeness was stifling.

"Dayna, Avon was using Orac to try to locate Blake and he wasn't successful. Let's put our time into something we know is real!"

"Don't make it sound as if we're tossing darts! We're using Orac to run down all of the possibilities. That _is_ real."

"Fine, but can we at least do something else while Orac is running down all of the possibilities?"

"Tarrant's right," Cally interjected hoarsely.

Tarrant whirled in surprise. He hadn't expected Cally as an ally.

"There's something that you haven't considered," she continued, coughing a little. "The Federation has had Avon for five or six weeks. They'll have extracted everything he knows about the teleport,_Liberator_, and Orac."

Their faces paled and Tarrant nodded.

"It's likely the resistance already knows, but we should ensure that some countermeasures are being developed."

Tarrant took advantage of the silence to regain control.

"Thank you, Cally. That was a timely reminder. Do you have any suggestions for contacting the resistance?"

Cally and Vila exchanged glances and shrugs as Vila fetched some water for Cally.

"Blake had the contacts. We only met a few of them. I suppose you might want to try Avalon as a start." Vila suggested tentatively.

"That's a name, Vila," Tarrant replied. "That doesn't tell me how to contact him."

"Her," Cally said firmly. "We have Orac, Tarrant, and Orac might be able to determine what frequency or channels Blake used to contact Avalon. They're old, and probably abandoned, but that's a start."

* * *

**4.7**

"It's alphabet soup!"

Tarrant, fastening his teleport bracelet, ignored Vila's remark but Dayna was charmed by the reference.

"I've never heard of that, Vila. What does it mean?"

She glanced quickly at Tarrant to assure him that she was ready, and stepped into the teleport pad.

"Don't know if it really is a soup, it just means there's a lot of letters. You know, start off with Avalon, which leads to Christophe, which led to Davis, which led to Gregson, which led to…"

"Enough, Vila. We get the point."

Dayna shot Tarrant a glance. He had been very short-tempered lately. Odd how that seemed to affect anyone who took command of _Liberator_.

"Anyway, you're going to meet Sumner. It just seems we worked our way through the alphabet to get to the letter 'S.'"

Shaking his head, Tarrant demanded teleport and Vila complied.

Tarrant was still cross when they materialised on the planet Norb in an alley behind the pub where they were to meet Sumner. Quite a change from Sarran, Dayna thought as she glanced around. Cally had confirmed that Blake often met his contacts in pubs and had implied it was fairly common within the Resistance to do so.

The pub itself, The Pig's Whistle, was small. The bar was against the long wall to the right, and it fronted only six stools. A long table ran down the left-hand side and Dayna noted two darts players engaged in a match immediately left of the door. She scanned the small room, its light dim enough to soften features but not enough for anyone to easily hide. The bartender had taken immediate notice of them, as did three men at the far end of the long table. The darts players stopped for a moment to give them a passing glance. Tarrant indicated the table's end and Dayna followed as Tarrant strode confidently towards Sumner and two other men.

Introductions were brief and cordial, still Dayna felt a bit of chill in their reception. Sumner seemed a quiet type, a large man apparently used to working outdoors. His companions seemed of like background. The three were silent, waiting for Tarrant who seemed a bit flustered and compensated with a slight bit of arrogance.

"As I mentioned when we set up this meeting, the _Liberator_ is known for inflicting damage on the Federation. It's my proposal to hit them in their pocket. We go after money and goods and pass them on to resistance groups that need them. We can target specific items or trade for things that are needed."

Sumner gave the proposal serious consideration, rubbing his chin thoughtfully while he gazed at Tarrant.

"So basically, you're saying that you plan to engage in a bit of space piracy to our benefit?"

The two large men that had accompanied him exchanged glances that Dayna could not interpret.

"Well, I suppose you could use that term," Tarrant replied with apparent distaste. "I see our actions more as harassment and resistance than piracy."

Sumner shifted position, sighing.

"You do, however, have a bit of a reputation for piracy. It seems more an extension of your past than in common with _Liberator's_."

Dayna shot a quick glance at Tarrant. He reddened briefly and his jaw was very tight. She looked between Sumner and Tarrant, trying to hide her distress. Tarrant had expected the resistance leaders to welcome his proposal.

"I have experience in that field, yes. What I am proposing is not in my own interest, nor that of my crew." Tarrant's voice was tight but remained courteous. "It only benefits the resistance."

"Your crew?" Sumner now looked surprised. "I did not know that you were in command of the _Liberator_."

Dayna groaned silently. Uh-oh, this is one of Tarrant's hot buttons.

"Yes, well apparently your information is slightly out of date. At present, I am in command."

I suppose I couldn't argue with that last statement, but Cally and Vila might still see this as an open issue.

"At present? What does that mean? Was this a recent change?" Sumner tilted his head, inquiringly persistent.

Tarrant's irritation was showing and Dayna opened her mouth to reply; a quick look from him stayed her.

"You seem to have a number of concerns about me, Sumner. Is there some specific point you wish to make?"

Tarrant leaned back in his chair, presenting a calm front but putting psychological space between them.

"_Liberator_ was Blake's ship. The last I heard, he had handed it over to Kerr Avon. Now you appear, claiming command of _Liberator_. With your reputation for piracy, I was wondering how that had happened."

As Sumner's voice changed inflection, cold authority replacing his quiet persistence, Dayna noted uncomfortably that the darts players had moved to a position behind them. Uh-oh, Sumner and two men to our front and another two men to our back. She slid her chair back just as Tarrant sprang to his feet.

"Look Sumner, I came here with a genuine offer of co-operation and support. I do not appreciate your insinuations, nor am I prepared to play games with you."

"Sit down!" The booming command conveyed enough authority to trigger Tarrant's FSA reflexes. He sat.

Sumner stood, and began pacing.

"You didn't answer my question, Tarrant. How did you come by command of_Liberator_?"

Tarrant's eyes flickered toward Dayna and she gestured with her chin indicating they were surrounded. So much for allies, she sighed. Tarrant tilted his head and a puzzled look came over his face.

"I'll answer your questions, Sumner, if you'll answer one of mine. Why are you so concerned about this? It does not affect you at all."

Sumner's face tightened. "Ah, but it does. I knew Roj Blake and Kerr Avon. I lost track of them after the War. I wouldn't have liked to think you had anything to do with that, young Tarrant."

"More Servalan's doing!"

Dayna couldn't help from interjecting. Sumner turned his attention to her and Dayna squirmed a bit under the intensity of his compelling gaze.

"Well, as Tarrant hasn't answered my questions, perhaps you would, Dayna."

Without a look at Tarrant, who she was sure was infuriated by the entire situation, Dayna determined to reset the balance.

"Tarrant is in command temporarily," she began, knowing full well it would irritate Tarrant, but would probably appease Sumner. "Avon was captured during a raid. We've made two attempts at rescue, but so far have been unsuccessful."

"And now you're turning to space piracy?"

Sumner's question rankled, it seemed almost mocking in tone as if he questioned her sincerity.

"Yes, but in addition _to_ not as a replacement for our other activities. We'll get Avon back and we'll find Blake."

Damn! The words were out of her mouth before she even thought. She didn't have to look at Tarrant to feel his full outraged glare; her cheeks burned from its intensity.

"You're looking for Blake?" Sumner pounced on her mistake and Dayna nodded miserably.

Tarrant cleared his throat, wrestling his authority back from Sumner who seemed to have tossed it aside.

"We had also hoped to establish a liaison within the resistance. We believe Avon is still alive; by now the Federation has gained access to tremendous technical details about _Liberator_, the teleport, and Orac. The Resistance will need to be prepared for this."

Sumner nodded slowly and walked away from them, towards the dartboard where he pulled out a number of darts and began idly throwing them at the board. Dayna glanced at Tarrant in amazement, but he shrugged, and sat almost patiently awaiting Sumner. The four men surrounding them hadn't budged, they stood as if four corners in a square.

"Dayna!"

Sumner called her without turning around, and she glanced at Tarrant for direction; he shrugged. She strode with confidence towards the resistance leader. She realised that she and Tarrant were now split but she hadn't fancied their odds very much as it was. Six against two, counting the bartender wasn't so bad, but this was by no means neutral territory.

Sumner continued tossing darts at the board as she joined him. She noted that he was very good; he'd quietly call out a number before tossing and consistently hit it.

"Dayna, you say you're looking for Blake. How long have you been doing so and by what means?" His voice was quietly intense, though he never looked at her.

"Avon's been looking since the beginning, right after the war. We continued these last few weeks, using Orac. I hoped that if we found him, he could help us rescue Avon. Can you help us?"

"Yes," he replied seriously. "I believe I can help you. I know where he is."

He turned finally, and to her discomfort, rested an arm around her shoulders, escorting her back to the group at the end of the table. It acted as some signal; Dayna noted that the four men surrounding Tarrant immediately eased position as if the danger had passed. Sumner escorted Dayna to her seat and then continued pacing, glancing first at Tarrant, then at Dayna.

"All right, your proposal makes sense. I'd hate to see _Liberator_ used simply for piracy but as part of its overall mission, it makes sense."

Tarrant straightened and started to reply but Sumner waved him to silence.

"You're lucky you brought her with you, Tarrant. I was ready to have your neck." The words were cold and Sumner's expression confirmed his ability to have carried through on it.

"The Resistance already knows about Avon's capture. Extraordinary measures are being planned to deal with the possibility of the Federation having a teleport, among other items. You're very late in sharing that information."

Tarrant opened his mouth, presumably to object, but remained silent.

Sumner looked straight at Dayna.

"Tell me about your rescue attempts."

"Perhaps you'll tell us what's going on." Tarrant fingered his teleport bracelet as he eyed Sumner.

Sumner loomed over the seated Tarrant, his face an angry mask as he leaned towards the younger man.

"I'll tell you, all right. If I thought for one minute that you left Avon down there so that you could take _Liberator_, you'd already be dead. I'd have done it myself. She," he snapped his head at Dayna, "may have saved your life because that's exactly what I was starting to think."

Dayna couldn't interpret Tarrant's face; he seemed to be puzzled, thoughtful, angry, and amazed all at the same time. Sumner pulled away from Tarrant, and began moving slowly around the table again.

"Avon is still alive. They moved him from interrogation to rehabilitation two weeks ago."

"Rehab…" Dayna started, and then couldn't continue.

"So," Tarrant began and Dayna was shocked to detect the note of triumph in his voice, "were you going to tell us who you are before you or after you had my neck?"

Sumner turned to glare at Tarrant, but a little smile crept in, almost a begrudged admiration. Tarrant's face twisted, as if he were trying for a smile, but what came out more closely resembled a smirk.

"I suppose you'll be wanting your ship back, won't you Blake?"

"


	5. Chapter 5

**5.1**

Avon dressed himself, distractedly irritated at the delays that seemed to be part and parcel of a hospital stay. Forms, approvals, doctors, nurses; all were hindrances to getting out of here and tackling all of the major obstacles still to be overcome. He tucked his black silk poloneck sweater into gray trousers, and donned the gray suede jacket, sighing. I'm ready, now let's get the hell out of here.

He began quietly pacing the room, glancing out the window with some impatience. Finally the door opened, and he turned quickly.

"I see you're anxious to leave." Dr. Rousert smiled with some amusement.

"Yes, can we get on with it?"

The doctor opened the door and made a sweeping arm gesture for Avon to precede her. Avon walked quickly out the door and into the hospital corridor, waiting for Rousert to catch up and lead him through the maze of corridors. They bobbed and weaved through an obstacle course of doctors, medical technicians, patients, and gurneys. The noise, muted within Avon's private room, rose unabated; voices shouting over each other, cries of pain, the quiet hum of diagnostic equipment. Avon closed his ears and his mind to it.

"All right, you have your meds, and a prescription will be on file here. The refills will be sent automatically to your home, delivered by messenger. How do you feel?"

"Fine," he replied automatically as they reached Rousert's office. "My driver is downstairs?"

"No darling, you're getting escorted by the President instead. Would you prefer I send your driver?" Servalan was draped in the doctor's desk chair and smiled brilliantly.

Avon gave a tight smile as he entered Rousert's office.

"I forgot you were coming." He turned to Rousert. "Anything else?"

Servalan appeared by his side and he instinctively linked arms with her. Rousert looked from one to the other, and shrugged.

"You'll let me know if the headaches become a problem, right? Then, you're free to go."

Avon sighed, and tugged at Servalan's arm. "Let's get out of here. I rather dislike hospitals."

Ignoring Rousert, he escorted Servalan out the door, following the guards that cleared their way. They remained silent as they exited the hospital, unconsciously ignoring some of the gaping stares that she produced, knowing that conversation was impossible in such an environment. Avon didn't relax until they were both seated in the flyer. The door shut out the noise and distractions and enclosed them in privacy. Silence and the smell of leather cushioned seating were among the joys of a personal flyer and driver.

"No greeting?" she complained.

"Hardly appropriate in the hospital," he murmured and leaned forward for a kiss.

Vermilion tipped fingers slipped around his neck and pulled him tightly into an embrace; Avon grunted as he lost his balance. Steadying himself with an arm on either side of her, he glanced quickly to see if the privacy shield was in place between passenger compartment and the driver's section.

"V, you are behaving as if you are a randy teenager. It hasn't been_that_ long."

"It seems forever, darling." She smiled wickedly and slipped his jacket from his shoulders. "Don't think for a moment you're going to work today. I've managed to clear my schedule."

"You're going to put me back in the hospital."

One hand was removing his jumper, the other sliding inside his trousers; he was finding it increasingly difficult to object, nor could he recall any reason why he had. For one thing, his mouth was completely engaged in a duet. For another, his hands had learned what his eyes had not known, specifically what she had worn under that fur coat. Trust her to be unambiguous.

"No more talking, Kerr."

* * *

**5.2**

He woke to angry voices – no, just one angry voice, but it was enough. She was standing over a commlink practically shouting down at it.

"I don't want excuses. I want that ship found! Do you understand me?"

Avon suppressed a smile. She didn't leave much to interpretation. He glanced around the room, noting the opulence of its furnishings. A deep crimson bed covering with matching draperies at the windows. He rubbed the fabric in his hand: velvet. A bit ostentatious, slightly over the top, he should be used to it by now. He rose and went to the windows.

Pulling the draperies apart, he gazed out on a long green expanse: lawn, giving way to shrubbery and then finally forest. They were obviously outside the domes; his attention had been rather engaged in the transport and he hadn't noticed the details of the trip. This place was unfamiliar, a new location perhaps? Puzzled, he combed unsuccessfully through memories for a mental picture of their old location. He felt the stare and turned to confirm his instincts.

"I was admiring the view." He glanced back at the window.

"Yes, so was I."

She slipped from a shout to a purr without any apparent effort. As she remained by the commlink, he crossed the room to reach her.

"Was this," he waved his hand and glanced around the room, "always as it is? I seem to recall something less ornate."

She captured his hand and dragged him closer to her with an admiring glance. His clothes were somewhere on the floor and he hadn't yet bothered looking for pyjamas or a dressing gown.

"You're thinking of the old location." She slipped her arms around his waist, rubbing his lower back. "It was destroyed after the War, by the resistance. Remember?"

He nodded slowly. Yes, he remembered the building. It had been old, pre-Atomic, a place with extensive history. It was stone and hadn't burned but its furnishing were consumed by fire and the walls were destroyed by explosions. He winced as he remembered and she immediately moved a hand to his temple, stroking his forehead gently.

"Headache?"

Her voice was anxious, more than a simple headache warranted; then again he had just come home. Irritated, he pulled away.

"I'm fine." His tone conveyed his annoyance.

"Don't be a fool! Ignoring your headaches landed you in hospital last time."

Avon bit his lip, trying not to laugh, and saw that his amusement was unsettling her even more than his irritation.

"I had begun to worry; you're only that sweet when planning something dire."

He caught her hand on the upswing as it headed toward his face; it would have been a light tap anyway, just enough to remind him she didn't like to be teased. He pulled the captured hand to his mouth and gallantly kissed its back, winning a smile.

"What have I missed?" He retained his grip on her hand, massaging it somewhat distractedly.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a bit more specific, darling."

Servalan pulled him down onto the loveseat. It was near enough for her to monitor the commlink, but comfortable enough to rest against its arm while she rested atop him, her head lying on his chest, arms circling his waist.

"Save the dissembling for your sycophants and politicians."

"The matter transmission project is stalled. As you were ill, I placed Mayer in charge, but there has been little progress without you. We should keep him in place; it frees you to focus on design, testing, and execution rather than those tiresome administration duties."

Avon exhaled loudly and unhappily. The project seemed interminable; it had stalled and floundered under bureaucrats and politicians for so long that it had been scrapped under the previous administration. Servalan had seen its potential and restored it, with a leaner team: no politicians, just designers, computer analysts, engineers, chemists and physicists. He remained uncomfortably aware that his position as lead designer was attributed to his wife. It chafed; his ability in this area was unsurpassed, no one else had a clear vision of matter transference. He sighed as he contemplated a return to the fray.

"Fine, as long as he does not interfere with what I am doing."

She chuckled and it reverberated through his chest.

"Yes, that's my Avon. In charge behind the scenes where no one can bother him."

He closed his eyes, suddenly tired. The loveseat was comfortable and the hand stroking his chest was more soothing than arousing. He tried to relax, really tried. If I cannot relax at home, where can I?

* * *

**5.3**

The return to _Liberator_ was anti-climatic. For one thing, he didn't really expect to stay. He was different now; they all were. Star One had changed them. Admit it, Blake, you were changing before Star One. That didn't force the change, it just acted as a mirror and what you saw was horrifying.

The separation from his companions gave him time to remember who he had been. Before he could live up to the expectations of the _Liberator_ crew, the Resistance, the Federation, he needed to remember who _he_ had wanted to become. The Federation had taken a great deal from him, but there was much he had changed as well. Somewhere he had lost the ability to persuade with honesty; he had come to rely on secrets and control. He had learned to lie by holding back a part of the truth, and what he held back stayed within him and became rancid, a poison in his soul. His word, his honour, his psyche were all subsumed by The Cause.

He found his way in the small gatherings, the start-up groups. He had missed the simple human contact of being with people who believed as he did, seeing the smile in their eyes, touching their hands. He loved his _Liberator_ companions, they were his family, but they did not provide the solace he found in groups of like-minded strangers.

Space was lonely and confining. Every day he had spent on _Liberator_ was packed with tension. Be fair, Blake, that's not true. There were many days of joy, many days of boredom. You brought your own tension, it was your need to constantly see progress in the battle against the Federation that made you reckless, that cost you lives, that cost you perspective. He was reluctant to return to _Liberator_;_Liberator_ was where he had gone wrong.

Still, it was home to a large degree, and Vila and Cally were family. His reunion with them was bittersweet for the pain of those missing. Of Jenna, they had heard nothing, nor had he. The news he brought them of Avon's rehabilitation reopened their wounds.

"Cally," he rolled her name in his mouth as he would an old single-malt whisky, "I understand your pain, I do not understand the guilt. Dayna told me you made two rescue attempts. You and she did try, which is more than I could say for Vila or Tarrant."

Restless, he rocked back and forth in the only chair in her cabin. Her recovery from her wounds allowed her to move to her cabin, but she still needed bed rest. Cally was thin. Lord knows she was thin before Star One but now she seemed emaciated and her face was so much sadder and older. She seemed a different person entirely in the months since he had seen her last.

"Blake, you're hard on Tarrant. He's not Avon, he couldn't be. And Vila," she sighed and gazed away sadly, "is consumed with his own guilt. Do not make it worse for him. I already worry for him and we're too short-handed as it is."

"Tell me why you feel guilty, why Vila feels guilty."

Impatient, aren't you, Blake? Resuming command as if _Liberator_ were still your ship, are you? Be careful, you might just get it back and then what would you do? He kept his gaze on Cally, compelling her to open to him, unburden herself.

"Come on, Cally," a touch of impatience, "I know you! I know you've been so busy taking care of everyone else, you haven't let anyone take care of you." Not that any of them would probably do so.

He caught the bite at her lip and the eyes that did not blink, and crossed to sit on the side of her bed. He pulled her against his side and rested his chin on the top of her head awaiting tears. Nothing came.

"Tell me why Vila feels guilty." Let's start with someone else. Let's take care of someone else first.

"He was at the teleport. He brought us up early; we hadn't asked. Avon's bracelet was off and Vila brought the rest of us up. Then he didn't note the co-ordinates so he couldn't return us to Avon's position. By the time we figured out the right co-ordinates, Avon was gone."

"And Vila feels responsible?" Blake frowned and considered. "Well, I suppose I would too under those circumstances, one error compounding the next. He's drinking too much, isn't he?" He sighed heavily at her emphatic nod. "Shall I have a talk with him? Will it help?"

"You might. I've tried but it hasn't helped. Of course we were all awful to him when it happened."

"Not as bad as I might have been," he replied honestly.

"Were you here…" she trailed off, as if closing the door on that thought.

"Yes? If I had been here, do you think it would have been different?" Blake asked it tentatively, his own minefield of guilt too crowded to add regret for not having come back sooner.

"Perhaps not. I'd like to think you would have talked Avon out of the entire trip to Earth. God knows I tried, for weeks, but he took no notice of my arguments."

Blake winced. "The way you argued with me about Star One, you mean?"

Cally's head swivelled up to meet his unhappy eyes.

"Yes, I suppose it was, and for similar reasons. You wanted to destroy Star One to justify yourself. Avon wanted revenge to ease his own guilt. You both had selfish reasons. You didn't act on yours, but we both know that it was a change of circumstances not a change of heart."

Blake winced again. "You may look tired Cally, but you're still a warrior at heart." He tried a smile. "You were very determined in your arguments against Star One. I imagine you were equally determined to convince Avon he was wrong, not that he'd ever willingly hear opposition. You do know that if he'd listen to anyone, it would have been you more than me."

Cally turned her head away from him but the glimpse he had of her eyes was one of grief. "I'm afraid our arguments became quite bitter; turned into personal attacks. I would not forgive him for putting revenge before Auron. It wasn't the timing; there was nothing we could have done for Auron, but the priority. He chose revenge for the dead, for selfish reasons, rather than trying to stop genocide."

"You feel guilty because you were quarrelling? Because your last contacts were bitter?" Blake posed the questions gently, without judgment. "Please remember Cally that Avon and I parted on less than ideal terms."

She shook her head and he knew he had missed the point.

"I'm sorry Cally, I should not have compared your situation with mine. You tried to convince him to abandon his revenge and he refused. Had he listened, he would be safely aboard _Liberator_ now. Do you feel guilty because you were right?"

She stared sadly at the wall and silently shook her head. Blake exhaled slowly, patiently.

"Cally, I am proving myself rather incompetent at guessing why you feel guilty. Perhaps you'd just tell me so I feel less of a fool?"

"It's hard to explain, Blake."

"Of course it is! There is nothing easy about Avon!" He tried for lightness but immediately felt the awkwardness of a misstep. "You know I say that affectionately. Underneath he's worth all the trouble."

"Yes, that's it exactly." She pulled out of his grasp and turned to face him. "Avon is Avon, and I demanded that he be something other than he was. I did not honour something that was essential to who he is." Her face contorted. "I said some terrible things to him, Blake. I'd be ashamed to repeat them and now I cannot take them back, cannot apologise."

"You'll have your opportunity," he murmured quickly trying to soothe her.

She shook his gentling hand away. "He asked nothing of me, he told me that I did not have to be involved as I did not approve. Instead of withdrawing my support, I attacked him. I was deliberately mean. It's not just that our last contacts were so bitter, it's that I betrayed his trust in me. I had no right to behave the way I did and I know I hurt him. He trusts so few people... Though my betrayal was minor to what he learned on Earth…"

"I understand he killed her."

"That was self-defence; she drew her gun first. If I hadn't shouted, she would have killed him!"

Blake smiled and captured one of her hands. "Still his strongest defender."

She ducked her head. "It's the truth; and then, of course, things went from bad to worse."

Blake sighed heavily, still petting her hand. "Servalan. I know."

She smiled at him and he saw the slightest trace of the old Cally, a devilish grin.

"Yes, well now that you're back, everything will be put right won't it? Isn't that the point of having a bonafide hero?"

Blake stood then, frowning and ran the fingers of his right hand through his unruly mop. Turning away from Cally, he paced the small interior of the cabin. So much easier to do this planetside where I can go outdoors for a walk. Yes, that's one of the many benefits of where I've been, besides fresh air, real water, real food, and of course a real life.

"Cally, I know you mean that in jest, but it's a sore point. You were right about Star One, which I know you know." He wouldn't look at her. "I've spent the time since trying to put that behind me, not just Star One but who I had allowed myself to become." He smiled briefly but still wouldn't meet her eyes. "I suppose had I listened to you or Avon, I could have stopped it from happening, but I needed to learn this myself." He toed at something on the floor. "I came back because of Avon. Once he's back, I doubt I'll stay."

He chewed at his lip, still not looking up, giving his words time to settle.

'You say that as if you're sure it will happen," she finally answered softly.

"My staying?" He raised surprised eyes to her.

"No, that Avon will be back. How can you be so sure?"

"I won't accept otherwise."

* * *

**5.4**

The project was stalled. Avon sat through four briefing sessions, one after another from 07:30 through 13:30. The project had not moved at all during his time in hospital. If I could do this myself…pointless to even consider that. It's too massive a project. Let's go back to the beginning.

Avon met with Mayer one-on-one at 13:45 in his own office. They were interrupted at 14:00 by a delivery of food. Mayer wouldn't meet his eyes as he directed the placement of the food on a credenza.

"I was given clear instructions from up high to ensure you ate."

Avon let his face rest in his right hand, thumb and middle finger spanning his forehead, each gripping a temple, in a silent bid for patience.

"Mayer, I've neither the time nor interest to project manage this task. You are to handle administration of this project, not act as a nursemaid. The engineering schematics are inadequate; they'll need complete revision. Get the head of Engineering up here and get that food out of my office."

Mayer stepped out of Avon's office and Avon flipped through the existing engineering proposals on his monitor. No, that material will fail, it's structurally inadequate for the task. What engineer designed that? Didn't he read the specs I gave them?

Avon never lifted his head as the food was removed and Mayer returned to the office. Mayer was a lean and nervous man in his mid-forties, a bureaucrat who knew how to work the system to his advantage. His real usefulness lay in his network of connections. Avon thought it the perfect partnership: he had no interest in Mayer's little kingdom nor had Mayer any interest in the actual details of the project. As project head, Mayer was nominally in charge. Both men understood who wielded the real authority.

Abbott, who headed Engineering, arrived twenty minutes later; Avon was nearly at the point of screaming from impatience. As punishment for the delay, he skipped all social conventions or greetings.

"We're behind schedule. Abbott, please explain to me the assumptions your department has made regarding operating frequencies."

Avon listened dully to the man's explanation. He's unfit for the task. I need someone who operates outside the system. He interrupted rudely.

"Tell me which of your engineers has the most contempt for this project and our approach to it."

It wasn't a question and his command clearly implied that at least one of the engineers would meet his criteria. Abbott's jaw dropped and his beady little eyes attempted to anticipate Avon's desire. Patience, Avon.

"I'll try again. Not contempt, but frustration with the existing approach."

"Collins. He's a little…"

"Yes, good. Send him to me." Avon turned back to his monitor and realised after a few moments that Abbott and Mayer were still there. "Is there something you need? No? I'll expect Collins here forthwith. Abbott, we're going to have to scrap all of your proposals and start over. You're using existing technology; matter transmission needs another level completely."

"Oh and Mayer, we'll need to meet with BioChem. Their molecular analysis of Aquitar requires elaboration."

* * *

**5.5**

"So Blake, I've heard of your legendary raids. What have you planned to rescue your old friend Avon?"

It wasn't Tarrant's arrogance as much as his persistent needling that irritated Blake. Avon had been just as relentless. Oh, but Avon never abandoned me to the Federation. His threats were distancing tools more than actual plans. He never let me down.

Blake had assumed a role in the watch schedule. With four of them now rotating the watch, Tarrant, Dayna, and Vila were recharging; their exhaustion was fading. _Liberator_ was following a slow, circuitous route toward Earth. Blake was anxious about the raid itself, about their lack of a plan, and about Dayna's obvious impatience to get on with it.

"Much as I'd like to accommodate you, Tarrant, I'm sure Vila or Cally can tell you that real life was slightly different than you might have heard." Very good, Blake. Rather elder statesmanlike if I say so myself, not that I'm elderly of course. "I've no magic plan. We need to get to Earth and find out where he is before we can develop a plan, wouldn't you agree?"

Tarrant smiled and Blake wondered if the smile was sincere or a technique used to distract. Certainly there wasn't much to elicit a smile right now.

"I'm pleased to hear a cautious approach. Based on Avon's comments, I had expected something more rash."

Blake walked to his own station, ignoring Tarrant for a moment while he scanned the log. Nervy little bastard, trying to play Avon against me.

"Yes, well Avon was right, you know," he responded somewhat distractedly. "I've learned caution, it doesn't come naturally."

Tarrant laughed, and again Blake wondered about the sincerity of the laugh. He categorised it as another tactic of the young and pretty to distract from their self-serving nature. This boy is intelligent; he guessed my true identify more quickly than I would have suspected, but he lacks self-discipline. It's a shame really; he could be quite a leader if he weren't such a bully.

"Avon's allowed to call your plans anything he wants because he earned the right, is that it?"

"Yes," Blake replied mildly. "He earned the right. He took the risks with me and I always felt better when he was guarding my back." He raised his eyes in a pleasant but slightly challenging smile. "That type of constancy is really quite rare."

"So you rewarded him with the _Liberator_?"

Tarrant had draped himself on the back of the flight deck couch and seemed in no hurry to go off-watch.

"I suppose that Avon, Jenna, and I had equal right to _Liberator_ all along. I took command, so yes, I felt it was mine to give."

Blake strolled over to the communications console and tapped in a series of numbers, seeking a specific channel and using a specific code.

"Sumner calling Christophe. Come in Christophe."

Tarrant looked interested and gambled up the stairs toward Cally's console. "Christophe was one of the resistance contacts we made before we met with you."

"I know," Blake responded without looking up. "It wasn't so much a matter of you finding me, you know. I heard about Avon's capture and I chose to find _Liberator_."

"Sumner calling Christophe. Come in Christophe."

"Christophe is located on Xevar, isn't he? That's quite a distance from here, Blake." Tarrant settled into the seat at Vila's station, swinging his legs and watching Blake with interest.

"Actually, he moved from Xevar to Lorkun fairly recently."

"Christophe here, Sumner. Go ahead."

Blake's face broke into a true grin of pleasure.

"Good to hear you, Christophe. How goes the factory expansion?"

Tarrant raised an eyebrow and looked at Blake inquisitively, but Blake ignored him.

"Slow going actually, but the foundation is built. Just waiting for the pre-fab and the new machines. I don't suppose you have any access to that line of equipment, do you?"

Blake grinned. "Not at present. You know our focus is salvage and recovery right now. If I unearth anything useable, I'll be sure to ship it your way. Having trouble with your supplier, are you?"

"Not at all, it's just their busy season. In fact, I'd highly recommend them. Demarr and Associates, 2133.8349.70881. I understand they might be interested in working with a good salvage company."

"Thanks for the advice, Christophe. Best to the family and good luck with your expansion. Sumner out."

Tarrant laughed and Blake returned the laugh with his own grin.

"All right, so Christophe is expanding resistance operations and he's looking for weapons. Am I right so far?"

Blake nodded.

"Demarr is our contact on Earth? And that's the method of contacting Demarr?"

"I must admit we don't try all that hard to mask our words since we're using a coded frequency, but it does help to use standard business terminology. Just blends in with all of the other background noise."

He started to step down from Cally's position, but Tarrant didn't move and blocked his return.

"Just one thing… if the Federation is monitoring for the names of resistance leaders, that business jargon is easily translatable."

Blake gave a crooked grin. "Yes, well Christophe and Demarr are not names known to the Federation. Nor is Sumner. We change them quite regularly you know. I've learned that using the name Roj Blake brings more aggravation than it is worth."

"All right, I'm impressed. The resistance is better organised than I had thought. Will they help us on Earth?"

Tarrant leaned back and let Blake return to his position.

"They already are. They've been keeping watch over him since he was captured. They've made four attempts to get him."

Tarrant's eyes widened in surprise.

"No, I guessed you wouldn't know. Only two were really serious attempts, the others were to keep Servalan on her toes. She's expecting something: he's guarded more closely than she is."

"But you're going to get him out anyway?" Tarrant's question was less a challenge than an acknowledgment.

"No, Tarrant. _We_ are going to get him out."

* * *

**5.6**

Avon switched off his monitor and pushed his chair away from his desk. I can see the system, can almost touch it, but when I take the smallest step forward, I trip over limitations. This material, these people; how can I create what I see working with people who cannot see it. He rested his head in his hands for a long moment and let exhaustion settle into his limbs. Sighing, he stood up and left the office, locking it from long ingrained habit.

Two men sprang to attention outside his door. Avon assessed them quickly: security or soldiers?

"Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"We're your escort, sir."

Avon rubbed his eyes. Escort? To where?

"I am perfectly capable of finding my aircar."

"Sir, we've orders from the President's office to protect you between your office and your home."

Brilliant! She's sending nursemaids and keepers. This will stop.

"Very well, gentlemen. Try to keep up, I wouldn't want to lose you."

In a fit of pique, Avon stalked out of the research complex. His driver had the aircar waiting in front, but his escorts ordered him to wait while they verified there was no threat in the twenty metres between the door and the aircar. Avon lost patience while they were still checking and strode to the vehicle. The guards broke into a run in order to join him before the speeder departed.

He sank into reflection on the journey home. She had been unusually protective since his return from the hospital though he had clearly conveyed his distaste for these measures. Why? It wasn't simply his physical health, no need for guards to escort him for that reason. The project? No, if that were the case there would be stepped up security around the entire research complex. He surreptitiously evaluated his two keepers. Based on their insignia, they were members of the presidential guard.

"Please elaborate on your orders gentleman. From what exactly do I require protection?" He drawled the question casually, attempting to put them at ease, admittedly not one of his strengths and rusty with lack of practice.

"Our orders were simply to ensure that you were conveyed safely, sir."

Avon nodded, trying for that easy charm that would elicit that which was unsaid. He had seen someone do it regularly, with ease, not Servalan naturally, but the situation and the name escaped him. He felt the twinge of an oncoming headache. Damn, I suppose I should have eaten something earlier. It's nearly 20:00 now.

"At the research complex you were obviously looking for something or someone. What was it?" He rested his head back against the seat, telegraphing that he was making idle conversation with these two strangers in an effort to put them at ease. He closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, pleased to hear the guards shifting in place to a more comfortable position.

"The resistance has been rather active lately and they've made some threats."

"Really?" He drawled the question in disbelief. "Certainly that's not unusual. The threats must have been quite specific to warrant this extra level of protection."

"Yes sir. I understand there is some concern for your safety."

How very interesting. How very aggravating that I learn of it in this manner. I wonder if they have any details or if I'll have to pull it out of her.

"Are you to baby-sit me in transit or will I also require protection at the office?"

"Our orders are to protect you in transit, sir. The security force at the research complex is responsible for your safety there."

"Hmm, to be frank, I normally ignore such threats. I admit I don't pay much attention to the details. What is the nature of the threat this time?"

Avon opened his eyes slightly to observe their reaction. The guards seemed relaxed with his questions; their eyes were moving constantly outside the speeder watching for threats.

"I don't know the details, sir." That was the older of the two. He had answered all of Avon's questions. "We were told only to be prepared for an attack."

He observed with strained humour the hand-off between his in-transit protection and those normally assigned at the Presidential Palace. He followed one guard to the personal quarters and noted that the guard remained outside the door. A personal guard for the personal quarters, I assume.

Supper was waiting, no sign of Servalan. Just as well, he sighed. I can enjoy the food without the row. He ate the meal without noting what it was and retired to an armchair to sort through his thoughts about the project and this unexpected protection.

"Ah, the weary warrior. You should be tired after alienating the entire Engineering department and scaring the hell out of BioChem. Did I forget anyone?"

Servalan swept in theatrically and settled onto his lap. Avon watched her warily.

"Was it the nursemaid you arranged or the keepers you sent that briefed you on my accomplishments?"

She smiled as she ran her fingers through his hair possessively. "You know better than that. I hear you dismissed the nursemaid."

"Only from those duties; I need an administrator. For what reason do I merit personal attention from your guards?"

Wide innocent eyes in response. "You're important to me. I worry about your safety."

"Really? When were you going to mention the threats that have supposedly been made?"

She embraced him tightly and rested her head on his shoulder.

"You know there are always threats, Kerr. Usually they are just aimed at me but we received one that included you. I was frightened. The resistance can be quite ruthless and they might hurt you to get at me."

He lay his head back in the armchair with Servalan wrapped around him rather comfortably. He had no idea why he didn't believe her. Something tickled at the back of his mind but would not emerge.

"Just that then? Nothing more specific?" She shook her head without lifting it from his shoulder. "You know that if someone wanted to hurt me that there is little your guards could do to stop it, don't you?"

"You're wrong. These are presidential guards; they'd rather die than let you be hurt."

No question about that; if I were killed, they'd die anyway. They'd have to be stupid not to expect her reaction.

"So there was an explicit threat against my life?"

"Hmm, yes."

"V, I know you're lying." She sat up, offended. "What I cannot understand is why you would lie about something like this." To me.

Her mouth tweaked, a reluctant smile. "How very annoying to have someone see through me so easily."

"Why?"

She shifted position until she straddled him, an obvious ploy to distract his questions. She eased his tunic over his head and began loosening his shirt. Automatically, his hands slid to her sides, caressing and holding her steady.

"Why the guards?"

She pressed forward, seizing his mouth and thrusting her tongue inside. He let her run rampant and with a sigh gave up his questioning for now.

* * *

**5.7**

Sleepless, he used the computer terminal in their quarters to cull information about the Aquitar Project from the Federation news database. There was little of current interest, which did not surprise him; the secrecy that surrounded the reactivation of this project verged on paranoia. Naturally the database would not indicate if the Resistance knew of the project or to what extent. Inconclusive and rather pointless to continue; he accessed his design files.

Engrossed in the mysteries of matter transmission, he nearly missed the soft tred behind him.

"There is a leak within the project, isn't there." He stated it rather than asked.

"Of course not!" She sounded indignant, as if he had questioned her own competence.

"Then why?"

Small hands slipped onto his shoulders; to calm him or a gesture of possession?

"You know very well that matter transmission would change everything. The Resistance would be decimated if we possessed that ability. They are desperate to stop that from occurring."

He listened carefully but he heard only truth. Still, she was not entirely forthcoming.

"Sabotage?"

"While you were ill, yes, there were incidents of sabotage. Central Security believes they may now take more desperate measures."

"Why now and why hasn't security been proportionately increased at the Research Dome?"

He had not torn his gaze from the monitor screen and simply listened as she moved around behind him.

"Don't play the fool. You know damn well why _now_."

He blinked repeatedly as she demanded an increase in lighting. So the threats have nothing to do with hurting her by my death. I'm not surprised; I knew she was lying earlier. Still, the project will not falter with the loss of one man, no matter how fond I am of my own skin … or perhaps it will. It stalled while I was ill.

"I believe it is time to discuss compensation. What is the going rate for irreplaceable?"

Her delighted chuckle broke the strange tension that had hovered since he learned of his escorts. Her hands returned to his shoulders but now slid down to his chest, nesting in the matt of dark curls.

"Compensation comes in many forms, my love."

Avon felt a draft and shuddered. Perhaps he should fetch a robe. On the other hand, if her hands continued their trajectory…

"Wealth, for instance?"

"Power," she replied, lingering on the word and imbuing it with sex.

"Wealth is much more reliable."

A warm breath in his ear disagreed. "I can command what cannot be purchased."

"Power is fickle and its costs often outweigh its benefits. Wealth cannot be charmed or bought by a rival alliance. With sufficient wealth, anything can be bought."

She slipped around him and slowly straddled him. Brown eyes locked onto brown eyes as pale skin merged, only dark hair delineated the joins.

"Feel it," she whispered slowly. "This is power. Feel it growing. Touch it. Taste it. It is absolute; wealth is only a pale imitation of this. Fuck me, Kerr; this is everything we both want."

"


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N:** Flirts with crossing into a M rating because Servalan acts like ... Servalan.

* * *

**6.1**

"Demarr's information is that Avon's guarded at all times. He's being held within the presidential complex and is transported daily via aircar to Research Dome 11, all the way over here." Blake used a detailed map to identify the locations for the crew. "The natural point of rescue is in transport, but he has at least two guards with him, three if you count the driver, and another four in a backup aircar."

"Can we sabotage the aircar? Set off sonovapour to knock out the guards?" Dayna suggested.

Blake strode around the flight deck, rubbing his lower lip. "It's a good thought. Demarr's people have already made five attempts at rescue."

"Five! I thought you said four," interrupted Tarrant.

Blake smiled wryly.

"They made another attempt two days ago. They tried to get to the aircar. Previously, they tried to get to him when he was in hospital, when he was in the rehabilitation centre, and twice while he was undergoing interrogation."

"Why was he in hospital?" Cally asked quickly.

"He was moved from Rehab to the hospital and released from there. We don't know why. He was there only two or three days. It could be just a part of Rehab, Cally."

"So the aircar is out. Demarr's people blew our shot at it," Dayna mused. "What about the Research Dome?"

Blake stretched and rotated his neck to loosen the tension.

"Word has it that the Federation reactivated the Aquitar Project. I imagine the information they pulled from Avon is the driving force for that. It's likely that he's working on the teleport project at Research Dome 11, probably with a small army of others."

"Working? You think he's willingly giving the Federation the teleport, Blake?" Vila looked unhappy. "I know Avon would sell his grandmother, I just can't imagine him giving them the teleport for nothing."

"I'd hardly call three weeks of interrogation and another three weeks of rehabilitation nothing, Vila."

Vila snorted. "Rehabilitation wipes the mind, not the core personality, right Blake?"

"I think you're forgetting that Avon worked on this project before, Vila. Before the bank fraud and before he met up with us, he had no involvement in the resistance or in any criminal activity. It wouldn't be a stretch to return to that type of life."

"It hardly matters," Tarrant interjected. "You're saying that the transport is heavily guarded, and I, for one, have no intention of going into the presidential complex. That leaves the Research Dome, doesn't it? If it's that obvious to me, then it's certainly obvious to the Federation. What's the security there?"

"Impossible to breach, or so I'm being told." Blake didn't pretend optimism. This wasn't going to be easy. "If anything, it's tighter than the presidential palace. There are palm scans and visual identification of each individual entering the specific building used for the Aquitar Project. Even getting into the Dome itself would be a challenge."

"So let me get this straight," Tarrant calculated with a frown. "He's being held at the presidential complex, which is fairly unassailable. The building where he's working is completely unassailable. That leaves the time he's in transit, where he's heavily guarded."

"We can take out seven guards!" Dayna protested. "With four in one aircar, all we need is to take out the aircar."

"I think if it were that easy, Demarr's people would have done so already, Dayna." Tarrant voice was clipped and impatient.

"Tarrant's right," Blake admitted after a pause. "You're thinking as if he's being guarded for his protection. If we attack the aircars, they'll probably kill him rather than let him be rescued. He's alive only because he's useful to the Federation."

"Is the Dome or the research building shielded?" Cally asked pensively.

Blake smiled. "We're trying to determine that right now, or I should say Orac is trying to determine that. There are some indications that shielding would interfere with the research and testing underway inside that Dome, which is to our advantage. Let me tell you what I have in mind."

* * *

**6.2**

"Is Collins what you hoped?

Avon was lying awake staring at the ceiling trying to decide the next steps at the project. Servalan had been busy checking messages and issuing orders. She always seemed to be particularly energetic after sex and rarely wanted any physical closeness or contact. He was surprised she had returned so quickly.

"Too soon to say. He has the potential. The others…" He waved his hand in dismissal.

She slid into bed and slithered over to him, legs entwining with his, hands restless in exploration.

"Does he understand it conceptually? As you do?"

"Are you looking to replace me already?" He asked in jest, fairly confident he was worth more than just matter transmission. Eventually she would tire of him, or he of her, but neither was at that stage, yet.

"The contrary, my dear. I need you for so much more than simple teleportation." She drew one crimson fingernail down his chest, leaving the faintest of scratches from the base of his neck all the way to his groin. "Such a pity that the Clone Masters were all killed. Imagine if I could clone you. I'd have an army of geniuses at my command."

"Ah, I am a tool at your command? I hadn't realised my true purpose." He smiled as her hand moved lower.

"Since cloning is out of the question, I'm afraid we'll have to use the old-fashioned route."

He had been lying back rather lazily, his eyes half-closed, watching her while they conversed. Now, he sat up abruptly and pushed her off, grabbing her shoulders.

"I have made my views on children perfectly clear."

He was as angry as he could remember, infuriated with the utter defiance he saw in her eyes.

"Are you out of your mind? You cannot carry a child! How can you reconcile your responsibilities as President with motherhood?" He bit his tongue before he reached the point of telling her his opinion of her mothering skills.

"Don't be tiresome, darling. You know I'll have a surrogate carry it. I can't race about the galaxy that way. Imagine!"

"You don't even _like_ children. This isn't a project that you hand it off to subordinates when you get bored! I won't agree."

"Those are other people's children, Kerr, not ours! Imagine what our genes will produce! The child will be brilliant and beautiful…"

"And arrogant and insufferable."

"Yes, I imagine it will have some of your traits, darling."

"That's irrelevant. I won't do it, V." Even as he said it, he realised the mistake he was making.

"Oh,_you_ won't do it!" She pushed herself into a kneeling position with hauteur. "Do you really think I'd let that stop me? Do you think you can prevent me from getting what I want?"

"Are you planning to rape me?" He spoke with deliberate calm. He had challenged her and she would never back down now.

"You know damn well I could do it! No one would dare stop me." She rose from the bed and stalked about the room, her eyes blazing. "As it so happens, that won't be necessary. Though I might do it purely for pleasure. I know you'd enjoy it as much as I would, wouldn't you?"

He remained silent, knowing that it wasn't a question; it was a command. He watched her carefully as she paced the room, every body movement angry and resentful. She would not forgive him easily, not for denying her this.

"I want a child, and I'd prefer it to be yours."

He ran the conversation through his mind quickly, focusing on tense. Yes, all of her statements about a child were future tense. This hadn't happened, yet.

"You are not pregnant then?"

She sighed in impatience. "I told you that I'd have a surrogate carry the child, Kerr. I've no intention of becoming pregnant myself."

"What is it that you're planning?"

She turned away and stood by the window overlooking the green. "When you were ill, there was a fear you wouldn't survive."

He was furious, bitterly angry. "You do not need my participation or consent at all, do you? Have your doctors already created the embryo, or should I say embryos?"

"Of course." She hadn't turned from the window.

He stood now and began to pace, attempting to control his rising temper.

"How many have they implanted?"

"Six."

"Six?" he roared. "I want no children and now there's a possibly of having six. If this is not the most selfish thing you've ever done, I can't imagine what is."

He stormed to the dressing room and began dressing, grabbing comfortable clothing. The calfskin trousers, the cashmere jumper, the soft kid boots. Pulling on a leather jacket he was halfway to the door before she stopped him with her voice.

"Where do you think you're going?" Her voice was ice, the voice she used with incompetent Space Command leaders or resistant High Councillors.

"For a walk. I need some air."

"Don't be a fool. You can't just go for a walk."

"You underestimate me."

He left the room, regretting the lack of an old-fashioned door to slam. The old quarters would have had them, though I cannot clearly remember ever slamming one. Come to think of it, I can't quite remember the personal quarters there. I remember her office, and some other rooms, but not the personal quarters. That's odd. He was distracted suddenly by the realisation that he had no idea of where he was going.

"Sir?"

Oh, yes the personal guard for the personal quarters.

"Are you assigned to me or her?"

"You, sir."

"Good. We're going for a walk. Lead the way out of this maze. I need some air."

* * *

**6.3**

At least he was sleeping well. He remembered having problems sleeping in the past but certainly hadn't experienced a problem recently. Avon wondered idly if the medication he was taking for the migraines or the one for that neurological problem was helping him sleep. Certainly he woke well rested. He attempted to stretch, catlike, but was unable to move his arms. Blinking awake, he realised two things: one, his hands were restrained above his head, and two, Servalan was sitting on top of him.

She leaned forward, her eyes locked on his. In their dark depths he saw calculation, peril, and wantonness. His chest tightened and he felt his body's instinctive response to the danger above him.

"Are you with me?" she whispered.

"Is it blind obedience you expect or blind trust? You know you'll get neither from me."

She nodded, apparently not displeased with his answer but her eyes still questioned him.

"I want you with me. _You_ are the most selfish thing I've ever done, do you understand?"

He actually felt his body tremble. She's mad, she's always had a psychotic streak, has she crossed over?

"Why would I leave? I chose to be with you."

His answer drew a flicker; he was alarmed by the look in her eyes. She is on the edge. She is truly on the edge. What will it be, sex or death? There's always that potential with her. His heart was pounding and he lay still, just watching her, waiting for her decision.

Finally she smiled. "No, you won't leave. You know I'd kill you if you did, don't you?"

He sighed with more relief than he'd want to explain. "Or so you've told me, often enough. I cannot build you teleport systems while I'm tied to your bed."

Her eyes still flickered savagely. "No teleports today, _Kerr_. I want to go about my activities today and know that you are lying here, awaiting me. You are mine, do you understand me?"

"Yes, but am I your mate or your inmate?" He smiled gently, attempting to dispel her strange, possessive mood.

She smiled, a frightening smile, still slightly wild. "Today you are my bed slave."

* * *

**6.4**

Blake paced the flight deck, fear dispelled through constant movement. He glanced up as Cally entered and shook his head.

"No one has seen him, then?"

"Over two weeks of the same routine and suddenly, it stopped. Before you ask, no, I don't think we have a leak. I'm hoping it's just coincidence. Perhaps he's attending a meeting, or she has him reviewing the teleport with Space Command. We've no idea."

Or they got what they needed from him and … stop it, Blake. If they went to the trouble of rehabilitation, they plan to keep him alive and well. He's useful. Hell, he's incredibly valuable! He's just being valuable somewhere else while we are waiting to pull him out. Damn that woman. It's as if she instinctively knows and throws up walls around her prize possession. Hell, he might be sitting in his little cell waiting until she decides to send him back to the research complex. We just need to wait her out.

* * *

**6.5**

Absolute power corrupts absolutely. That was possible, Avon thought with amusement; it certain enabled rescheduling at whim. This time she did not even undress. It was not necessary as she rarely wore undergarments.

She had tossed her stilettos behind her before crawling onto the bed. She rubbed herself on his chest; it became obvious she had been thinking of him. She was already wet and the moist heat seared his skin.

His arms were sore and his shoulders ached but he would not confess it to her. Not in this mood. She knelt over him, knees on each side of his head. Her eyes warned him not to speak; his mouth was required elsewhere.

Though his lips and tongue were tools for her pleasure, she controlled the pace, lowering herself over him and shifting to position herself where she wanted him. It was both intimate and impersonal. As his tongue slipped inside her, he was unable to dispel the feeling of being used, that he was only a tool that existed to serve her. She was savage when she came and he heard her throaty "Kerr" as a validation that at least she knew the tool she used. It was the only word she spoke.

* * *

**6.6**

Her madness passed, as it always did. Most of the time, they were enough alike that explanations were unnecessary. When she slipped into one of _those_ states, he actually feared her. Avon couldn't remember if she had ever actually hurt him; she used restraints and force against him and took pleasure in his insubordination. The more he resisted the wilder she became. Wild he could handle. Wild was not frightening. When she was wild, her sexual demands were exacting and unusual, but the activities were collaborative, if somewhat exhausting. It was the feral, calculating Servalan that was dangerous. That Servalan was capable of harming him.

He smiled wryly as he entered the Aquitar Project headquarters. Mayer had been told that Avon was attending critical Space Command meetings yesterday. He wondered if the man would believe the truth. Perhaps I'll tell him that the President tied me to her bed. He sighed. No, it would be too easily believed to have any shock value. An entire day tied to the bed. Usually she gets it out of her system after a few hours. On the other hand, it was uninterrupted time to work on the matter transmission design, at least mentally.

He had his assistant call Collins to his office and sent his presidential guards back to their barracks. The Dome security took responsibility at the complex and he already had one of them perched outside his office. He left strict orders not to be disturbed by anyone but Collins and turned to the CADCAM screen. If Collins and I can finalise a design, perhaps all of the departments can use it as a model.

* * *

**6.7**

He heard the commotion and understood it before his conscious mind heard the voices. The door opened and he heard his assistant's fawning voice. Collins and he had been working for hours. Perhaps a break was timely.

"Madam President."

Avon smiled dryly. Poor Collins, he does not even realise that his obvious awe cost him some of the approbation she would have bestowed simply because I selected him. Collins was clever enough to depart before being asked and hit the door panel on his way out.

Avon leaned back in his chair. "My assistant had orders that I was not to be disturbed. I suppose a reprimand is due."

Servalan scanned his office and dismissed it in seconds. She eyed Collins' chair and then remained standing.

"I want you to meet with Space Command. They are anxious, pompous fools, no better than the High Council. You will convince them that the project is on schedule."

Avon swung his chair back to his monitor in disgust.

"Send Mayer or one of your politicians. If you expect this project to return to schedule, I have work to do."

There was a rush of air as she turned. Footfalls announced that she stalked him in fury and Avon braced for the incoming storm.

"_You_ will accompany me! Not Mayer or any of those useless politicians. Those fools at Space Command will not be mollified until they know_you_ are working on this project."

Avon opened his mouth to argue and then paused. I've been working on it since it was re-commissioned. Why would they need convincing? Instead he snapped automatically at her tone.

"If this is where you expect a 'yes dear,' you married badly."

She pulled him from his chair and pushed him against the desk. So small, she seemed fragile. Avon often forget she had been a Federation officer and still maintained the strength and knowledge of how to use it.

"You forget your place. As President, I am ordering you to attend this meeting with me. As for the other…"

She pushed him down onto the desk with possessive and hungry hands. "I believe there are certain marital privileges to which I am entitled." She rubbed against his groin suggestively and began toying with the collar of his jacket.

He grabbed her wrists and pulled himself upright. "Why are you here?"

"I want you inside me. Now, preferably." Her eyes were heavy with irony and lust.

"No."

A delicate eyebrow arched and her lips mouthed the word as a question.

"I'm not your sexual plaything or your stud. Get out." Avon pushed her away.

"I do love it when you're forceful," she purred, hands returning to his groin and freeing him from his trousers. "I could have anyone as plaything or stud…"

"Then have one of your playthings sire your children."

She slapped him across the face, long fingernails leaving faint scratches.

"You will father my child."

"Your brood, you mean. I've fathered six; that should be enough even for you."

She burst out laughing. "How amusing. Did you really think I planned to have more than one?"

"You implanted six," he said coldly.

"A precaution. I'll only need one."

"And the rest?"

"Will be terminated once the one is certain."

And you'll name it Power, he thought bleakly.

* * *

**6.8**

"Any last minute questions?"

Tarrant and Dayna shook their heads. Blake had paired them together as it seemed they had some affinity. Perhaps he was projecting the affinity that he had often observed between Avon and Cally. In any case, both knew their assignment and each seemed capable enough.

"All right. He normally leaves the office between 19:00 and 20:00 hours, but the rest of the office empties out by 18:30. We go in at 19:15. Any questions on the timing?"

He turned and gave each a close look to satisfy himself they were really ready. They'd only have one chance. Demarr had taken five, but that was a local group. Once the Federation realised _Liberator_ was in orbit, they'd have to run.

"Vila, are you set? Cally, are you all right at the teleport? Good, then we go in thirty minutes."

The teleport co-ordinates would cost Demarr a man on the inside, one of the administrative workers. He would have to vanish, go off world or take a new identity after today, but Blake had promised Demarr it would be no loss. The man would have no job on the Aquitar project if everything went well anyway.

19:15. "Put us down, Cally."

They materialised outside Avon's office. Tarrant and Dayna made quick work of the security guard. Avon's assistant was long gone. With a nod from Blake, Vila, Tarrant, and Dayna departed to accomplish their tasks. Blake listened carefully at the door to Avon's office. The floor was quiet and there were no other lights on over cubicles or in any other offices. He heard no voices inside the office and knocked nervously.

He waited impatiently, and then knocked again with more energy this time.

"Come."

He closed his eyes in mute thanksgiving as he heard that familiar, sharply irritated voice. Blake opened and closed the door quickly before anyone else appeared. Avon was sitting in a desk chair, facing away from the door.

"This is not a good time. Come back later."

"I'm sorry, Avon, that's not possible. I need to speak with you now."

Blake held his breath and waited for Avon to recognise his voice. Avon whirled in his chair, his face a mask of anger. Blake saw all of the small details as he took in the face of a friend he hadn't seen in months. Avon's hair was shorter than he had worn it when Blake last saw him, cut sleekly against his head. He still favoured dark clothing but he obviously had access to a good tailor with first-class materials. The major difference was in the expression. The careful, circumspect mask was gone, replaced by unalloyed hostility. Avon, I imagined seeing you again so many times. Each time I imagined at worst a reluctant admission of relief, never outright animosity. Then again, I never imagined that the Federation would have you when I found you.

Look, I don't know who the hell you think you are…"

"Blake, Roj Blake." He stared at Avon for a long moment, willing Avon's mind to make the associations, find the hidden memories. There was nothing but suspicion in the dark brown eyes. "You don't know me, do you?"

Suddenly, Avon's face contorted in pain and he closed his eyes. Blake darted forward instinctively protective, but the man jerked away with obvious misgiving.

"What's wrong? Avon, Are you all right?"

"I'm fine. Go away." Avon opened his eyes and gave Blake a watchful glare. "How the hell did you get in here?"

Oh, I just teleported in, but I'm not sure you'd believe me, right now.

"You'd probably not believe me. Quite a security detail you have for a research scientist." Blake waited for a protest, a recognition that the security detail were his captors not his protectors.

"You'll have to take that up with my wife; it's her doing."

Wife? Blake's jaw dropped. He thinks he's married! He also doesn't seem upset by the guards, as if they are his protectors, not his captors. This is not at all what I expected.

"Your wife? Avon, you're not married," he whispered.

"Well now, I suppose that would make the baby a bastard, wouldn't it?"

He thinks he's married and has a child? My God, they've done a job on him. They've built him an entire life, completely different from what he led before the bank fraud or any time afterwards. Of course they did, Blake. He's a major player, critically important in the technology development field. I imagine the Federation would give him anything to keep him happy. A wife and child. I never imagined Avon with either. Who? Anna Grant would have been the obvious choice. Does he even remember her?

"Look, Blake or whatever you're called, I don't have time for these games. Come to the point now or I'll have security escort you from here."

Sorry, old friend, that will not happen. Tarrant and Dayna have taken out security and there won't be anyone coming to rescue you, except for me but it seems I'll have to convince you of that another time.

"The project you're working on. It's matter transmission, isn't it?"

"That's hardly a secret."

Blake nodded slowly.

"You might not understand this now, but you will later. I promise."

Blake pulled the extra teleport bracelet from his pocket and held it towards Avon. It caught Avon's attention immediately and Avon's eyes narrowed, and then widened in surprise.

"That's aquitar! How the hell…"

Grimly, Blake swung his fist hard and fast, connecting with Avon's head. He caught Avon as he fell from the chair and rested him gently on the plush carpeting. Sorry, my friend, it never occurred to me to bring a tranquilliser pad. I didn't realise the extent of your conditioning. He placed the bracelet on Avon's wrist and smiled.

Blake keyed the communicator. "Status report please."

"Charges placed and primed," Tarrant reported crisply.

"Two more minutes," Dayna replied.

"Not much in the safe, but I have it all," chimed Vila.

"Tarrant, please take charge until the others are done, then come up. Cally, two to come up now. Bring up the rest when they're ready."

He lifted Avon's limp body and held him up as the teleport took hold.

* * *

**6.9**

"In and out within seven minutes. We have Avon and they have what used to be a building housing the revitalised Aquitar Project. Servalan must be apoplectic."

Blake smiled as Tarrant summarised. He should be pleased, as should they all. The mission had gone more smoothly than he had allowed himself to dream. He couldn't assume that they had eliminated all traces of the information obtained from Avon during interrogation. Surely Central Security retained that somewhere where the resistance would not access, but their strike had been decisive. Tarrant had programmed the escape route before the mission and Zen had executed it immediately upon their return.

"Any word from Demarr?"

Tarrant shook his head and shushed Dayna and Vila who were celebrating wildly with a bottle of something Vila had unearthed.

"I'm going down to medical. Let me know if you need me." Blake raised his eyebrows in query and Tarrant nodded.

Now, let's see what Avon remembers of us and the _Liberator_.

"


	7. Chapter 7

**7.1**

In retrospect, it really was amazing how long they had left him alone in the medical unit. Of course, that man, Blake, probably assumed that I'd be out. It was lucky that he put the tranquilliser pad on my chest; it didn't stick very well to chest hair.

Avon hadn't found any betzulderine and had had little luck with the medical computer in deriving its elements or finding an equivalent. Betzulderine was used for seizures; it was the more important drug. The migraine medication, devulran, he had; enough for two weeks if he rationed the pills. Of course, without the betzulderine, he'd probably use up the devulran at a faster pace than normal. Damn these people. If they're holding me to swap prisoners, they'll have to get the medication.

More importantly, the medical computer seemed not to have any linkages to external communications devices. He had poured through its most basic code looking for peripheral connections or network attachments. It had some linkage to a ship's computer and he was convinced that there must be a way to use the ship's computer to access the communication channels. I suppose they grabbed me without much thought to my expertise or they'd never leave me alone with a computer. That's it, Avon, you're not appreciated for your impressive intellect. In this case you're a just a pawn in their game with Servalan. She'll be furious and terribly worried. Serves her right after the last day or two. Of course, I can think that if I get home in one piece with a minimum of pain or suffering. I won't be so smug if this pawn is expendable. Six embryos; she'll claim credit for infallible foresight.

He jerked his head up as the door opened and the woman who had cared for him earlier entered. Cally, wasn't it? She saw him at the computer and immediately halted. Their eyes met and Avon saw that Cally clearly knew his capabilities with computer access. She moved to the commlink.

"Zen, effective immediately, you will not take any orders from Avon until advised by myself or Blake. Ensure that he is blocked from accessing communications channels via any computer linkage. Blake, I think you should come down here."

Avon nodded. She was very thorough. He'd have to work a bit harder to get around these measures. I'm surprised that this Zen person didn't know that I was a stranger. Why would he — or she — take orders from me anyway? Is it a secret that I'm down here?

Cally picked the tranquilliser pad from the wall and directed a baleful look at Avon.

"That was careless. It is easy to forget that you're working against us. Have you made any progress in whatever you're trying to do?"

How strange, she doesn't seem the least bit angry. Actually I haven't been mistreated at all. I suppose there are worse captors than these.

"Not much, no," he replied honestly. "I've enough of the migraine medication, devulran, to last for a bit so that's not my main concern. I didn't find any betzulderine, nor have I had any luck finding an equivalent or its constituent elements to create an equivalent."

Cally looked thoughtful and walked over to peer over his shoulder.

"Betzulderine is the medication that you take for seizures?"

Avon nodded.

"How often do these seizures occur?"

"The point of the medication is to _prevent_ them from occurring. As I take it regularly, they do not normally occur."

"Don't worry, Avon." She smiled and rested a hand on his forearm. "We'll have Orac find out how to synthesise this drug. You won't go without."

He was about to snatch his arm away, annoyed that this stranger had taken such liberties, but winced as he felt a twinge. Migraine coming on? Funny, he had been feeling fine until this very moment.

"The odd thing is that I can't find any physiological problem that would cause seizures. All of the brain scans come back normal."

Avon blinked. Why on earth were they running these tests? That's a rather expensive way to avoid dealing with my medication needs. He lifted his head again as the door opened and that Blake person entered. I wonder if these are the only two I'll see. I suppose it makes sense for me not to see too many faces. Then again, if they're known resistors, it's not likely I'll identify anyone not already known to Central Security.

"You're with the resistance aren't you?"

Blake grinned. "So you _have_ heard of us?"

"Not either of you by name, but it's logical to assume that you are in opposition to the Federation. What is it that you expect to achieve with my capture? Am I to be traded for one of your people?"

Blake's smiled faded and he sat heavily on one of the medical beds.

"As we said to you earlier, we hope that you'll regain your memory and realise that you are also a part of the resistance. You were captured, interrogated, and conditioned to believe a number of untruths."

Avon's eyebrows rose and he bit his lip in amusement. "Really? That is a fanciful plan. Are you saying that you'll brainwash me to become part of the resistance? That certainly would be a slap in the face to Servalan, wouldn't it?"

"Avon, you're not married to Servalan." Blake sighed. "I'd like to show you to your quarters. Then I'll tell you everything I know about the last three years of Kerr Avon's life. After that, I will give you access to Orac," he held his hand up at Cally's alarm, "limited access so that you cannot communicate with anyone. You will be able to research yourself, Servalan, matter transmission, and more importantly what has been happening in the last three years."

"Using what I suppose is your computer. How on earth can I believe any information you provide?"

"Orac is more than a computer, as you'll see. He can access every tarial cell based computer in the galaxy."

Avon blinked as the twinge of a headache returned. That concept was so familiar, yet so elusive. Hadn't he discussed it with Servalan? Yet another technological advance that existed only in concept, to his knowledge, yet existed in reality upon this ship. He rejected the pattern that immediately presented itself.

"Blake, before you go, I'd like to go over some things with Avon. Avon, as the brain scans show no reason for the seizures, can you enlighten me to their cause?"

He nodded, still distracted about the Orac concept. "It was an injury. Just after the war, the resistance destroyed our residence." He smiled wryly. "I suppose I should say the previous Presidential Palace. During the attack, I was injured fairly seriously. The only lasting effect was some neurological damage from a head injury."

Blake swore loudly and jolted Avon from his reverie. He noticed to his surprise that Blake was pacing, and seemed furious.

"Damn her! If there's any neurological damage it's due to the interrogation and she has the temerity to blame the resistance!"

Avon shifted uncomfortably. "Look, I don't tend toward gallantry, but I would appreciate if you'd constrain your invective."

"Avon, you were not injured in an attack on the Presidential Palace! You commanded _Liberator_ during the War! You held back the alien invasion until the Federation ships arrived! Damn her to perdition!"

"Apparently I've quite a reputation to assume."

"Blake," Cally interrupted as the big man was about to begin another outburst, "let me just finish and then you can yell all you want. Avon, you were recently hospitalised. Was that related to the earlier injuries?"

He nodded. "Yes, I was having severe headaches. It progressed to the point where it could no longer be ignored and surgery was necessary. It is critical that I take the betzulderine regularly to prevent that from recurring.

"All right. If you'll leave one of the pills that you have, I'll see if I can synthesise more. I'll research the betzulderine and learn how to synthesise it."

He smiled at her with sincerity. She had been very kind and deserved his thanks. "I'm grateful to you for all you've done, Cally."

Blake sighed heavily behind him and Avon rose somewhat hesitantly and followed the larger man from the room. At least I'll get a look around the ship. Perhaps I'll learn something I can use.

* * *

**7.2**

Orac was all that Blake had promised and more. The perplex box of lights was every Christmas present Avon had ever dreamed all rolled into one. And more. He would be content to stay aboard this ship just to work with Orac. Of course, with all Blake had told him, this was where he belonged anyway.

As Blake spoke, Avon listened carefully to the details of someone else's life. Some were familiar; he experienced immediate flashbacks, and in certain cases could remember sounds, smells, and textures to an amazing degree. Other aspects were familiar in a detached way, almost as if he had seen it happen to another man. Enough was familiar to be completely disconcerting and he gradually dropped his combative attitude, growing more and more quiet.

In session after session, Blake's story remained consistent, each time unearthing a response. But how do I know that this is not some type of conditioning? How do I know that he is not implanting these memories?

"Have you considered, Blake, that I might have been better off where I was?"

Blake seemed dumbfounded. Apparently he had not considered that point at all.

"Avon, how could you possibly mean that? Your life, your memories were suppressed. You were a prisoner of the Federation, subjected to torture and brainwashing. I rescued you, gave you your freedom, gave you your life back."

"Hmm. According to you my life is a disaster. I am a convicted criminal for a failed bank fraud. The woman I loved was a Federation agent who betrayed me, and I'm a wanted man with a fairly short life expectancy. I've spent the last three years risking my life in one disaster after another among a group of people who barely get along. Do correct me if I've erred, Blake."

Blake cleared his throat warily.

"On the other hand, you 'rescued' me from a stimulating career, an electrifying marriage, and a life of relative ease. Do you see my dilemma?"

"Avon," Blake sighed, "you do understand that wasn't real, don't you. Servalan used you, pretended to be your mate to control you. The entire thing was a Federation construct. Once they were done using you, it's quite likely that you would have been killed."

"You are insisting that my life, as I now know it, is not real. You are telling me that my wife is pretending, and I'm supposed to accept that despite my own experiences with her. While you've presented what I concede is some rather unsettling material, please understand that I'm not ready to trust that anything you say is true. What is your interest in returning me to this life of a hunted animal?"

"My interest?" Blake's voice boomed inside the relatively small cabin. Well, relatively small compared to the personal quarters of the Presidential Palace. Of course, if what Blake was telling him was true, Avon could now understand his cloudy memories of their previous home.

"I rescued you from an oppressive government that would have used you up and then discarded you. You're my friend, your life is important to me. I, we, all of us took incredible risks to get you out of there in one piece and you're complaining?"

"What do you gain from this, Blake?"

"Avon." Blake leaned forward, his voice and face pained. "I know this isn't easy. Lord knows, I know that better than anyone. They took away your memories and built you a completely different life for their purposes. Understand that it wasn't done _for_ you. The Federation, and Servalan, took you from your life to use you. They used you to begin constructing a teleport system. They would have used you to duplicate Orac and bring about some of the_Liberator_'s technology. They didn't ask you, they just took."

Avon moved about the cabin, unable to remain still.

"And your resistance, you won't use me for the same reasons?"

"Not without your consent, Avon. You were with me because you chose to stay."

"All right, I've heard what you had to say. Please leave me. I've a migraine coming on."

"Just one more thing, Avon. I don't want to alarm you, but you can't go back. If you returned now, you wouldn't be trusted, you might be killed. You belong with us. You _could_ choose to leave once you have your memories back, but you could never go back to what you thought was your life."

He gave Blake barely a glance as the other man left, but that glance saw a tired, worried man. They've used no force and they've been relatively gentle and concerned. My God, is there some possibility that what they are telling me is the truth?

Avon sat down in front of the desk, still twitching from anxiety. "All right, Orac. Let's see what you can tell me about Kerr Avon and Victoria Servalan."

* * *

**7.3**

Damn it's difficult coming off a mission and taking watch without a rest between. Blake nearly stumbled up the stairs leading from the flight deck. He caught himself before he fell and tensely waited for laughter. All was quiet. A quick glance over his right shoulder showed Dayna engaged in whatever was on her monitor. Ah, my image remains intact. He took the rest of the stairs more slowly.

Something to eat and then straight to bed. Best not to eat too heavily. He traced the twisting pattern of passageways on automatic pilot his mind absorbed in a review of Avon's situation. Blake's head was rapidly approaching the floor before his tired mind processed that he had tripped over some rather large unmoving object. Arms automatically protected his head, and he twisted, landing on his side.

The impact was jarring, his left hip absorbing most of the shock and would wear the bruises as proof. Stunned momentarily, he irritably turned to see what item had been carelessly left in the corridor. Inconsiderate, thoughtless bastards. Haven't a thought for anyone, no care for the safety of others. I'll be sure to raise this at our next group meeting and heaven help the person who left this in the corridor.

Avon. He had tripped over Avon, who lay in a heap as if he had collapsed without warning. Irritation gave way to alarm as he crawled over and touched the other man. He's warm and breathing, breathing doesn't sound good though. Pulse racing, unconscious. Blake rolled Avon onto his back and tilted his head back.

"Avon! Avon, what happened? Can you hear me?"

Leaning against the wall, Blake pulled himself up and stumbled to the nearest commlink.

"Cally, I need you in the surgical unit, _now_!"

Anxiety lent energy and adrenaline. He lifted Avon almost easily, draping him over one shoulder and moved as quickly as possible to the medical unit. He arrived only seconds before Cally and gently placed Avon on one of the medical bunks.

"What hap…"

"I don't know, he was this way when I found him."

Blake stood back as Cally began running diagnostic scans. Dayna called through the commlink for status; he had none to give yet. Finally Cally looked up at him, her eyes as puzzled as his own swirling emotions.

"Massive shock, but don't ask me why. There's no sign of trauma or illness. I'll treat for shock and keep him here. Once he's regained consciousness, perhaps he can tell us what happened."

"When I left him he mentioned an oncoming migraine. Could it be a seizure? Something related to the neurological problem he cited?"

Cally leaned against an empty medical bed, frowning.

"Blake, none of the brain scans we've run show any neurological problems. I've done research and had Orac do research on the medication he uses for seizures, betzulderine. I can't find any trace of it. That other medication he has, what he uses for the migraines, he called it devulran. There is no record of that drug either."

Blake gnawed at his finger, pacing about the medical unit.

"What's the possibility that they are new drugs recently developed by the Federation?"

Cally shook her head. "Orac can't find any information on them, Blake. I am analysing the tablet of devulran that Avon gave me. I don't know what they've been giving him, but the drugs are not named what he's been told."

Blake exhaled in frustration. "Why would they tell him the truth about the drugs he takes? He's swallowed every other lie they fed him; this is just another. Do you know that he told me that he would have been better if we had left him there?"

Cally's face was a study in disbelief. "He _likes_ being married to Servalan?"

Blake glanced at her quickly. "Cally, he's been conditioned." He moved up behind her and rubbed her arms, aware of her desolation. "They've played with his mind in horrible ways. How can he know what he likes or wants? How can he separate what they've implanted from his true nature?"

"Blake, did you ever think that way? Did you ever think you might have been better off had you never known you were conditioned?"

"No," he answered thoughtfully, "but there wasn't quite as much of a contrast. The major difference was my awareness. For Avon, as he's pointed out, he's gone from the lap of luxury where he was working on a stimulating project to being a wanted man, hunted all over the galaxy. I can understand why at some level, he might want to believe what they've conditioned him to believe."

"In that case, do you think he'll ever come back? What if he rejects what you've told him? What will we do then?"

"That is a very good question."

* * *

**7.4**

"Welcome back, sleepyhead," Cally said gently. "How do you feel?"

Avon didn't respond. He stared straight ahead, his expression looked lost and confused. His hair was lank, and spilled over his forehead. Between his boyish fringe and his pyjamas, Avon looked far too young to have such haunted eyes.

Cally waved her hand in front of his face. He blinked his eyes in response, but did not turn to look at her nor react in any other way. His eyes seem all right, perhaps his brain isn't responding to the stimulus.

"All right, Avon, I want you to stay there just where you are. I'm going to run some tests."

Cally smiled grimly. He wasn't likely to move. He had been unconscious for more than four days and he now lay motionless, unresponsive. Could it be a withdrawal from the drugs? What were their long-term implications?

She finished the tests just after Blake bounded through the door of the medical unit, exuding energy, even if it was an edgy, nervous energy.

"I got your message, Cally. Avon! You're awake!"

Cally bit her lip at the sheer pleasure in Blake's voice.

"Blake, he's unresponsive. I don't know if he hears you or not."

His face crumpled and his eyes lost the brightness they had worn for less than a minute. Blake needs Avon back too. I can see how much he's missed him. How much he still misses him.

"What is it?"

"I don't know. I called for you when he woke. He hasn't responded to my voice or to visual stimulation. There does not appear to be any physiological cause. My guesses would include a reaction to the drugs or to the conditioning itself."

Blake sat on the medical bed across from Avon's, staring at the other man. "So what do we do?"

Cally sat next to him on the bed. "I know all of you defer to me, but I'm not a doctor. I'd just be guessing. I have no experience in dealing with this. I called for you in the hopes that you could reach him."

"Those drugs…"

She nodded and exhaled in muted anger. "Yes, interrogator drugs. My guess is they had him take them to support his conditioning. He hasn't had that betzulderine in at least five days, the devulran in four. When I analysed the devulran tablet, I found out that it was anthecerine. I suppose they lied about the name in the event he knew the real purpose. Anthecerine builds up and is stored by the body; it takes ten to fourteen days to be completely eliminated. I don't know what the betzulderine really was, so there's no way to predict how long it will stay in his system."

"All right," Blake said slowly, with consideration. "So what are you saying?"

Cally sighed. "I'd just be guessing. If it is a reaction to the drugs, it's possible that it will clear up within a fortnight. If it's a reaction to the conditioning itself, I don't know how to help him."

"You think I can reach him?" It wasn't a question so much as a request for confirmation. She nodded.

"I'll try Cally. Can we move him to his cabin? Surround him with personal belongings, the little he has?"

"I think Orac might help too." She laughed, breaking into a true grin. "I think he pets Orac when we're not looking."

Blake's smile didn't reach his worried eyes, and she reached over and grabbed his hand supportively.

"Blake, Avon's self is his mind. This may well be a psychic shock for him, learning that the Federation tampered with his mind. That's where I thought you could help."

"Hmm."

Blake seemed absorbed. Cally guessed that he was dwelling on his own experiences with Federation mind tampering.

"What's the news? How is Servalan reacting? After all, we did steal her mate, the father of her child, and the technology genius who was going to change the Federation!" She deliberately kept her voice light, trying to draw Blake from his brooding.

"Nothing out of the norm, well, she's spitting mad of course. I doubt that her personal interest was well known. Demarr's checking into the issue of a child. So far no word."

Cally shook her head and looked away.

* * *

**7.5**

Avon heard the voices at a distance. There were no questions now, nor did anyone seem to speak to him directly. He wasn't aware of any drugs, but dimly he felt the pinch of the drip and acknowledged that they were possible, actually probable. Another phase of interrogation I suppose. I wonder what the objective is now. So many pictures, remembrances, smells, tastes. Scenes flashed before him, one after another. Servalan, Anna, Tynus, Blake, Mayer, Rik, Cally, Anna again but she wasn't Anna anymore. Which were real and which imagined?

Perhaps I'm dead. Why else could I look back on my life and see two paths diverging? There's the path with Anna, and Tynus, and the bank fraud. That path leads to my destruction, conviction, The London, Blake, and _Liberator_. Yet, there's that other path. Anna introduced me to Servalan, and I was drawn to her, drawn from Anna's frailty to V's strength. That path leads to success and achievement, marriage, brilliant career breakthroughs, all that I ever wanted.

Which was real? Which decision made the difference? Did I go to one party and meet one person who led me in one direction rather than the other? Both paths are, yet I cannot have lived both lives. Which one is my real life? Did I choose, and did I know what I chose?

Blake tells me he has gaps in his memory, parts of his life that he cannot remember. I have two lives; I just do not know which is my real life. Think Avon! Go back to childhood, to when I was a young man. What was my life before that fork I see? Was I the happy, successful man who would one day head the Aquitar Project? Was I the bitter cynical man who turned to crime and stumbled into the resistance movement by chance? Damn, I was both. Go back further then.

He drifted, attempting to close out the voices. He heard Blake's voice. Funny, I don't remember Blake being a part of the interrogation session. Well, they had an Anna look-a-like, perhaps they have someone who sounds like Blake. Servalan is relentless; she'll use my weaknesses against me and Christ knows my feelings for both are an invitation for pain.

How can she be relentless if she is my wife? Don't be a fool! She wavers on the verge of madness. Remember how dangerous she can be, even to those she loves? Would she have her mate interrogated? Possibly, but she would control the interrogation, wouldn't she? Why would she have me interrogated? She'd do it if she wanted something from me, but if we were together she wouldn't need interrogation to get it. I suppose that's the answer, Avon.

Really, it shouldn't be such a surprise that I chose the route to self-destruction. It's really much more in character than the road to success. Oh God, I'm Kerr Avon the convicted criminal, a terrorist, part of the Resistance. I'm near the head of the wanted list since Blake, damn him, dropped from sight. This is my life. This disaster is my life. I tasted success, happiness, security and it was only an illusion. It was everything I wanted and it was a Federation drug-induced fantasy.

She's good. She gave me exactly what I wanted; I give her credit for that. Had Blake not rescued me, I would have stayed. I think she wanted that as much as I did.

* * *

_FINIS_


End file.
